THE   RED  REPUBLIC 

BY  R.W.  C HAM  HER S    * 


y 


'  ^  i 


-  ■ 


THE     RED    REPUBLIC 


"  Lo  !  I  too  am  come,  chanting  the  chant  of  battles! 


The  Red  Republic 


A    ROMANCE    OF    THE    COMMUNE 


BY 


ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS 

Author  of  "The  Maker  of  Moons,"  "King  and  a  Few  Dukes," 
"  Lorraine,"  etc. 


LONDON   and   NEW    YORK  : 
G.     P.     PUTNAM'S    SONS 


First  Published,  1895 
Popular  Edition,  1922 


TO     MY     MOTHER 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

L- 

—The  Caf6  Cardinal       . 

I 

11.- 

—Philip  Acts  as  Escort  . 

II 

III.- 

—An  Historical  Interlude 

29 

IV.- 

— "  The  Eighteenth  of  March  " 

38 

V.- 

—A  Cowardly  Flight      . 

59 

VI.- 

—The  Drums  of  the  265TH 

69 

VII.- 

—The  Tmpasse  de  la  Mort 

75 

VIII, 

—Hemmed  In    . 

108 

IX.- 

—Jeanne  de  Brassac        . 

115 

X, 

—In  a  Garden          .... 

126 

XI, 

—The  Commune  Moves     . 

137 

XII, 

—The  Shadow  of  Terror 

145 

XIII, 

—A  Dangerous  Quest 

159 

XIV, 

— Raoul  Rigault      .... 

170 

XV, 

—The  Awakening     .... 

176 

XVI. 

—A  New  Recruit    .... 

■     179 

XVII, 

—With  the  Red  Flag 

.     191 

XVIII, 

— Tcherka  Has  an  Idea  . 

211 

XIX, 

— Sarre  Pays  a  Debt 

.     220 

XX, 

—The  White  Road  .... 

.     226 

Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXI.- 

XXII.- 

XXIII.- 

XXIV.- 

XXV.- 

XXVI.- 

XXVII.- 

XXVIII.- 

XXIX.- 


PAGE 

-Commissions  for  Two    ....  231 

Within  the  Walls        ....  243 

-A  Voice  from  the  Clouds     .         .         .  251 

-Weser  Bids  Tribert  Good-Night  .         .  264 

-Husband  and  Wife       ....  272 

-The  Vivandiere  of  the  66tii         .         .  279 

-"  The  Prison  of  the  Condemned  "        .  285 

-The  Last  Barricade     ....  292 

-The  Return  of  the  Blackbird     .         .  304 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

THE  author's  acknowledgments  are  due  to  MM.  Philibert 
Audebrand,  le  Comte  d'Herisson,  Jules  CI  ere,  Ferdinand 
Dugue,  and  Charles  Virmaitre,  for  their  valuable 
volumes  ;  also  to  "A  '  Proscrit  '  of  the  Commune,"  for  his 
"  Truth  about  the  Commune." 

The  author  has  also  made  use  of  information  volunteered 
by  his  revolutionary  friends  of  Belleville,  La  Villette,  and 
the  Faubourgs  Montmartre  and  St.-Antoine  ;  but  acknow- 
ledgments are  especially  due  to  certain  good  comrades  ot 
the  XIXe  Arrondissement. 

Through  the  kindness  of  Geo.  Haven  Putnam,  the  author 
has  been  able  to  consult  a  copy  of  the  official  records  of 
the  Commune. 

Occasionally  the  author  has  deemed  it  best  to  change  the 
names  of  certain  streets,  and  also  of  officers  and  battalions. 
The  separation  of  the  romance  from  the  facts  would  leave 
the  historical  basis  virtually  accurate. 

R.  W.  C. 


Above  the  bayonets  mixed  and  crossed 
Men  saw  a  gray  gigantic  ghost 
Receding  through  the  battle  cloud, 
And  heard  across  the  tempest  loud 
The  death -cry  of  a  nation  lost  !  " 


THE    RED    REPUBLIC 


CHAPTER  I 

The  Caf6  Cardinal 

"All  Englishmen  are  pigs  !  "  observed  a  young  man  who 
stood  swaying  in  the  doorway  of  the  Cafe  Cardinal.  Nobody 
replied  to  this  criticism.  The  cafe  was  full.  The  young  man 
advanced  unsteadily  to  the  centre  of  the  long  room  and 
looked  about  for  a  seat.  His  lustreless  eyes  travelled  from 
table  to  table  until  they  became  fixed  on  a  group  of  people 
in  the  embrasure  of  one  of  the  windows  which  opened  on  the 
Rue  des  Fxoles.  Toward  these  people  he  shuffled,  but  when 
he  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  one,  a  woman,  she 
cried  out  and  shrank  away.  A  man  sitting  beside  her 
started  up  angrily,  but  sat  down  again  when  he  saw  who  it 
was,  and  resumed  his  jaunty  air. 

"  It's  Isidore  Weser,"  he  chuckled. 

Room  was  made  at  the  marble-topped  table. 

"  Sit  down,  Isidore,"  said  the  jaunty  man.  "  Your  legs 
seem  very,  very  tired." 

But  Weser  still  stood  swaying  before  the  table,  turning 
his  eyes  from  one  to  another ;  then  he  addressed  each  in 
turn  :  "  Bon  jour,  Faustine,  bon  jour,  Tribert,  bon  jour, 
Sarre,  bon  jour " 

"  Sit  down  !   Sit  down  !  "     said  Tribert,  impatiently. 

Weser  replied  with  a  yell  that  drew  the  attention  of  the 
whole  cafe.  This  seemed  to  be  what  he  wanted.  "  When 
I  came  in,"  he  explained,  "  I  made  a  remark  to  which  nobody 
paid  the  slightest  attention.  I  advanced  a  proposition 
which  called  for  comment.  There  was  no  comment."  He 
paused,  fixing  a  glassy  eye  on  Landes,  who  from  a  distant 
table  was  looking  curiously  at  him  over  the  edge  of  a  news- 
paper. "  I  will  repeat  my  remark,"  he  resumed.  "  All 
Englishmen  are  pigs  !  " 

X^andes  half  rose,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  sat  down 

I 


2  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

again.  This  seemed  to  amuse  the  jaunty  man,  whose  name 
was  Sarre. 

"  Certainly,  Englishmen  are  pigs  !  "  he  cried,  dragging 
Weser  into  a  chair  beside  him,  "  and  Izzy  has  religious 
scruples."  His  voice  was  perfectly  audible  to  every  one 
in  the  cafe.  Several  people  laughed.  Landes  threw  down 
his  paper,  and  walked  over  to  the  group  at  the  window. 

'  My  name  is  Philip  Landes,"  he  said,  looking  straight 
at  Sarre.     "  I  am  an  American." 

Sarre  grinned,  but  before  he  could  reply  the  girl  beside 
him  cried  : 

"  They  all  know  you  are  an  American,  Monsieur  Landes. 
They  mean  you  no  discourtesy." 

Sarre  waved  his  hand  jauntily. 

"  You  mustn't  take  offence.  Weser's  drunk,  isn't  he, 
Tribert?  " 

"  All  the  same,  I'm  not  fond  of  Americans,"  said  Tribert, 
impudently. 

"  Shame  ! '  cried  the  girl.  "  I,  Faustine  Courtois,  say 
it.  Pagot,  Sarre,  have  you  no  excuse  to  offer  Monsieur 
Landes  ?  " 

Pagot  looked  frightened,  Sarre  grinned,  Georgias,  the 
Greek,  sneered  openly.     Landes  waited. 

"  Sarre,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  am  waiting  for  your 
explanation." 

"  If  I  have  said  anything  that  might  seem  offensive,  I  am 
sorry,  and  withdraw  it,"  grinned  Sarre,  emphasizing  each 
word  with  a  pat  of  his  hand  on  his  fat  legs. 

"  And  I,"  shouted  Weser,  struggling  to  his  feet —  "  I  tell 
you " 

"  You  tell  me  !   Canaille  !  "   cut  in  Landes,  coldly. 

Tribert  dragged  Weser  back  into  his  chair,  and  turned  to 
meet  the  stern  eyes  of  Landes.  "  /  said  nothing,"  he 
muttered,  shifting  his  glance. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Landes. 

At  that  moment  a  man  approached  the  table,  nodded  to 
everybody,  and  sat  down. 

"  Bon  jour,  Raoul,"  grunted  Tribert. 

The  other  acknowledged  the  greeting  and,  drawing  a  pair 
of  glasses  from  a  case,  adjusted  them  and  looked  up  at 
Landes.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  "  it's  Monsieur  Landes.  What's 
the  trouble  ?  " 


THE    CAFE    CARDINAL  3 

"  Monsieur  Landes  thinks  we  are  not  polite  enough  !  " 
chuckled  Sane. 

"  And  he  will  instruct  us  perhaps,"  said  Raoul  Rigault. 

"  If  necessary,"  said  Landes. 

Rigault  looked  at  him.  "  Americans  are  not  favourites 
in  Paris,"  he  said  brusqely. 

"That,"  replied  Landes,  "is  of  no  consequence  to 
Americans." 

"  Who  says  Americans  are  not  favourites  in  Paris  ?  " 
demanded  Faustine.     "  They  are  favourites  with  me." 

Philip  glanced  at  her  kindly,  but  his  eyes  returned  directly 
to  Rigault.  Rigault  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and 
held  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Monsieur  Landes,"  he  began,  "  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

"  Whatever  you  say,  Rigault,"  Philip  answered,  "  don't 
forget  that  in  the  siege  just  over  we  Americans  served  with 
the  ambulance  corps  and  the  American  Minister  was  the  only 
foreign  representative  in  Paris  who  stuck  to  his  post." 

"  Ah  !  Yes  !  The  American  Minister,"  said  Rigault. 
'  You  may  as  well  know  what  we  Parisians  think  about  your 
Minister " 

"  I  don't  care  a  d — n  what  you  Parisians  think  about  our 
Minister,"  retorted  Landes,  "  but  I  want  to  know  what  you 
mean,  you,  Raoul  Rigault,  and  you,  Andre  Sarre,  both  of 
you  students  of  the  Latin  Quarter,  by  insulting  a  fellow 
student,  a  member  of  the  Students  Association  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  is  right,"  said  a  tall  young  artillery  officer  at 
a  neighbouring  table. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  cried  Rigault. 

The  officer  rose  leisurely,  buttoned  his  astrakhan-trimmed 
dolman,  and,  picking  up  his  sabre,  snapped  the  clasp  to  the 
short  silver  chain  which  dangled  from  his  sword  belt.  Then 
walking  over  to  Landes,  he  bowed,  saying,  "  I,  Monsieur, 
admire  Americans,"  and  with  a  pleasant  salute  to  Faustine, 
turned  his  back  on  the  rest  and  walked  out. 

Raoul  Rigault's  eyes  glittered  through  his  glasses.  "  En 
voila  un  qu'il  faut  saigner,"  he  muttered. 

Disgusted  with  the  whole  scene,  Philip  turned  to  go  also. 
Rigault  sprang  up  and  barred  the  way  ;  his  baby  mouth 
under  the  thick,  crisp  beard  looked  moist  and  venomous. 
He  began,  speaking  slowly  at  first,  but  before  he  had  uttered 


4  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

half  a  dozen  sentences  he  was  snarling,  his  cheeks  purple 
and  swollen,  his  eyes  growing  paler  and  harder  until  they  had 
lost  every  vestige  of  colour,  and  were  nothing  but  a  malig- 
nant sparkle. 

"  You  have  been  expelled  from  the  Students  Association, 
Monsieur  Landes,"  he  began,  "  and  for  this  reason — you  are 
an  American.     We  want  no  Americans  " — louder — "  and  no 
Prussians," — still    louder, — "  do    you     understand     me  ?  ' 
Here  he  burst  into  a  roar.     Sarre  caught  his  arm. 

"  Give  him  the  letter,  Raoul,"  he  said  ;  "  don't  make  a 
scene. 

Raoul  thrust  the  paper  he  had  been  holding  at  Philip, 
who  took  it  mechanically,  but  Rigault,  shaking  off  Sarre, 
went  on  violently  : 

"  Your  American  Minister  has  taught  us  who  are  our 
enemies  ! — your  Minister  Washburn " 

"  Are  you  crazy  ?  "  said  Landes,  astonished  at  this 
outburst. 

"  Rigault  is  right,"  growled  Tribert. 

"  Am  I  crazy  !  "  mimicked  Rigault.  "  Do  you  want 
proofs  ?  Did  your  Minister  Washburn  receive  the  American 
papers  during  the  siege  ?  And  did  he  erase  with  ink  every- 
thing in  them  that  could  be  of  service  to  France  before  he 
would  let  them  be  seen  by  us  ?  " 

"  He  could  not  do  otherwise,"  said  Philip,  gravely  ;  "  a 
Foreign  Minister  could  not  distribute  to  the  garrison  of  a 
besieged  town  news  which  he  was  able  to  receive  only  through 
the  courtesy  of  the  besiegers."  To  cut  short  the  violent  and 
foolish  scene,  he  would  have  turned  away  once  more,  but 
Rigault  drowned  his  last  words  in  a  torrent  of  half-articulate 
blasphemy,  out  of  which  came  distinctly  the  words, 
"  American  Minister,  American  students — paid  Prussian 
spies  ! 

Without  a  sound,  Landes  sprang  at  him.  Tribert  jerked 
Rigault  back  against  the  wall,  and  shoved  the  table  in  front 
of  him,  while  Monsieur  Cardinal,  alarmed  for  the  crockery 
in  his  cafe,  threw  his  arms  around  the  American's  waist,  and 
shouted  for  the  police.  Landes  struggled,  white  with  passion, 
overturning  tables  and  chairs,  but  Monsieur  Cardinal  held 
fast,  while  Sarre  and  Pagot  each  draped  himself  over  an  arm. 

"  Raoul  Rigault,"  he  said,  between  his  gasps,  "  you  he  1 
Let  me  go,  Monsieur  Cardinal  I   I  will  not  touch  him  here, — 


THE    CAFt    CARDINAL  5 

let  go,  Andre  Sarre,  or  I'll  break  your  neck.  On  my  honour, 
I  won't  touch  him,  Monsieur  Cardinal, — not  here,  to-night, — 
let  me  go,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  On  your  honour,  Monsieur  Landes  ?  "  whined  Cardinal. 

"  I  said  it,"  panted  Landes. 

They  released  him,  and  the  tumult  in  the  cafe'  died  away 
as  he  took  a  step  forward  and  faced  Rigault. 

"  I'll  break  my  cane  over  your  head,  when  next  we  meet, 
you  mongrel  liar  !  Keep  out  of  my  way,  Sarre  ! — and  you 
too,  whatever  your  name  is,"  turning  on  Tribert,  who  scowled 
back  in  reply.  "  As  for  this  canaille  you  call  Weser,  and  this 
Greek  here,  who  seems  so  ready  with  that  thin  knife  he's 
just  slipped  back  into  his  pocket — pfui  !  "  He  made  a 
gesture  of  disgust,  and  walked  out  into  the  street,  trembling 
with  excitement. 

He  crossed  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  and  entering 
Ferdinand's  ordered  dinner,  but  when  it  was  brought  he  felt 
too  upset  to  eat,  and  drawing  out  the  paper  he  had  received 
from  Rigault,  he  looked  at  it.  It  bore  the  seal  of  the  French 
Students  Association  and  was  addressed  : 

Monsieur  Philip  Landes, 
Artiste  Peintre, 

F-cole  des  Beaux  Arts, 

En  Ville. 

The  black-eyed  waitress  who  had  served  him  for  three  years 
felt  that  something  indeed  serious  must  be  the  matter,  when 
a  young  man  who  has  just  been  through  a  siege  of  six  months, 
living  on  government  demi-rations  of  horse  meat  and  straw 
bread  reads  a  letter  before  looking  at  the  juicy  Chateaubriand 
which  a  black-eyed  waitress  sets  before  him. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Monsieur  Landes  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  No, — oh,  no,"  he  replied,  smiling.  "  I'll  eat  presently. 
Has  Monsieur  Ellice  come  in  yet  ?  " 

Ellice  entered  as  he  spoke,  with  Yn&s  Falaise,  and  Landes 
rose  to  welcome  them. 

"  Bon  soir,  Mile.  Yn&s.  Hello,  Jack  !  Sit  down  here,  I'm 
just  beginning. 

Ynes  seated  herself  with  a  graceful  shake  of  her  fluffy 
skirts,  and  the  two  young  men  dropped  into  chairs  on  either 
side  of  her. 


6  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"Well,"  said  Ellice,  after  the  dinner  was  ordered,  "any 
news  ? 

"  Nothing  of  interest,"  replied  Landes,  thinking  of  the 
scene  just  past  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal.  "  What  do  the  evening 
papers  say  ?  " 

"  Whatever  they  say,  they  don't  say  it  in  English," 
observed  Mile.  Falaise,  whom  that  language  bored.  The 
young  men  laughed  and  begged  her  pardon,  then  chatted  on 
in  French. 

"  They  still  keep  talking  about  that  mysterious  Central 
Committee,"  said  Ellice.  "  What  is  the  Central  Committee, 
Ynes  ?  " 

"  Politics  !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  What  a  pity,  before 
dinner  !  " 

'  Ynes  is  of  Lewis  Carroll's  mind,"  said  Ellice.    "  Politics 

to-morrow,  politics  yesterday,  but  never  politics  to-day." 

"  Then  give  me  a  glass  of   that    Chambertin,"  she  said 

evasively,    "  and  talk  your  politics  by  and  by  with  Monsieur 

Philip." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  Comite  Central  every  day  since  the 
surrender,"  persisted  Landes.  "What  is  it,  anyway? 
Who  compose  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  interrupted  Ynes,  "  that  the  Prussians 

stole  all  the  cuckoo  clocks  in  the  Champs  FJysees  quarter  ?  ' 

"  Ah,  bah  !  "    laughed  Ellice.     "  Every  one  knows  they 

behaved  themselves  very  well  while  they  were  in  Paris." 

"  But  they  stole  the  cuckoo  clocks,"  persisted  Mile.  Falaise, 

— "  the  barbarians  !  " 

"  Barbarians  as  much  as  you  like,"   said  Ellice,   "  and 

their  native  tongue " 

"  And  their  French  !  I  suppose  they'd  call  it  the  Gomide 
Zendrale,"  mimicked  Mile.  Falaise,  making  her  mouth  very 
round. 

"  Jack,"  said  Landes,  "  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the 
Central  Committee !     Do  you  remember  last  month,  while  the 
peace  was  being  arranged,  a  placard  was  stuck  all  over  the 
walls, — a  big,  square  red  placard,  blood-red  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  remember  it." 

"  It's   a  wonder  you   do,   considering  the  thousands  of 
placards  of  every  shape  and  colour  that  we  used  to  see  pasted 
up  every  day  during  the  siege." 
"  Oh,  I  remember  this  one.     It  said  the  National  Guard 


THE    CAF£    CARDINAL  7 

had  elected  the  '  undersigned  '  as  a  Committee  to  intervene 
in  the  situation." 

'  Yes,  and  they  declared  they  would  intervene  in  the  name 
of  three  hundred  thousand  citizens.  It  isn't  a  small  detail, 
three  hundred  thousand  citizens.  And  the  '  undersigned  ' 
were  sixteen  names  absolutely  unknown,  unless  you  except 
that  fellow  Assi,  who  came  into  prominence  during  the 
Creuzot  troubles.  Well,  that  was  the  beginning  of  the 
Comite  Central.  Nobody  paid  the  slightest  attention  to 
it  then.  So  far  as  I  know,  no  one  does  now,  and  yet  it  seems 
to  be  there,  all  the  same.  What  is  it,  what  does  it  want, 
Ynes  ?  " 

'  What  the  Comite  Central  wants,"  said  Ynes,  impaling 
and  eating  a  single  pea,  "  is  the  Republic.  That's  what  I 
want  also." 

"  It's  what  all  France  wants,"  said  Ellice. 
'  Except  Monsieur  Thiers,"  said  the  girl,  scornfully. 
'  Well,  yes,  I'd  like  to  know  what  Monsieur  Thiers  wants, 
too,  while  I'm  asking  for  information,"  yawned  Ellice. 

'  What  he  wants,"  flashed  out  Ynes,  "  is  to  insult  Paris. 
First  he  holds  the  National  Assembly  at  Bordeaux,  and  then 
he  carries  it  to  Versailles  !    Imbecile  !  " 

''  He  said  he  didn't  want  to  go  there,"  said  Landes. 
"  Versailles  is  the  city  of  kings,"  he  said. 

:'  Oh,  pour  cela,  Versailles  is  well  enough,"  said  Ynes. 

'  It's  onlv  a  suburb  of  Paris  now,  thanks  to  the  railroad. 

But  Monsieur  Thiers  blows  hot  and  cold  with  the  same 

mouth,  that  is  my  opinion,"  she  added,  with  a  gay  smile, 

and  held  out  her  glass  to  touch  Philip's. 

They  pledged  the  Republic,  and,  at  her  command,  drank 
confusion  to  all  Germans,  "  and  may  their  stolen  cuckoo 
clocks  go  wrong  for  ever,"  said  Ellice. 

Ynes  kissed  her  hand  to  him,  and  made  him  a  compliment 
on  his  esprit,  but  Landes  harked  back  to  the  first  theme. 

"  This  Central  Committee  bothers  me,"  he  said.  "  What 
common  end  holds  them  together  ?  Are  they  afraid  Thiers 
will  betray  the  Republic  ?  Are  they— is  it  the  Commune 
they  are  after  ?  " 

"  The  Commune,"  murmured  Ellice.     "  That  would  mean 

Thermidor  !  '      Their  eyes  met,  they  looked  at  Ynes,  who 

was  sipping  an  ice.     Her  pretty  teeth  showed  in  a  careless 

smile,  a  fluffy  mass  of  silk  and  lace  framed  her  pointed  foot. 

B 


8  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

She  glanced  aside,  caught  them  looking  at  her,  and  became 
injured  and  expostulatory. 

"  Mais,  mon  Dieu  !  What  is  this  ?  Politics,  politics, 
always  politics  !  And  that  is  how  you  make  yourselves 
agreeable  to  ladies,  you  Americans  !  " 

"Would  Mademoiselle  perhaps  find  this  more  amusing?  ' 
smiled   Philip,   handing  her  the  letter  which  he  had  kept 
beside  his  plate.     "  Read  it  too,  Jack,"  he  added. 

Ellice  leaned  over  with  a  "  pardon,  Ynes,"  and  glanced 
at  the  paper  which  she  unfolded.     When  he  saw  its  contents 
he  started  back  and  stared  at  Landes.     "  What  in  thunder  !  ' 
he  exclaimed,  "  where  did  you  get  that  ?  " 

"  From  Raoul  Rigault,  just  now  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal. 
He  was  there  with  Andre  Sarre  and  a  miscellaneous  collection 
of  scum  that  I  never  saw  before.  He  made  a  nasty  scene 
and  then  handed  me  this.  He  said  it  was  because  I  was 
an  American " 

"  Ah,  bah  !  "    said  Ynes,  angrily. 

"  Well,   did  you  say  anything   to  him  ?  '      asked  Jack. 

"  I  started  to  make  a  few  suitable  remarks,  but  had  to 
desist  because  of  the  shrieks  of  old  Cardinal." 

"  Raoul  Rigault  knows  all  about  the  Comite  Central," 
observed  Ynes,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  he  does.     I  thought  as  much." 

After  a  short  silence  Landes  resumed. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Jack,  how  they  celebrated  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  February  in  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  last  month  ?  ' 

"  I  didn't  see  it,  but  I  heard  about  it." 

"  What  would  you  say  was  the  prominent  feature  in  that 
celebration  ?  " 

"  If  you  like  to  call  a  prominent  feature  what  was  the  only 
feature,"  mocked  Ynes,  recovering  her  gaiety,  "I  should 
say  La  Garde  Nationale." 

"  Well,  I  watched  the  whole  business,"  Philip  went  on, 
"  from  six  in  the  morning  till  six  in  the  evening  the  battalions 
of  the  National  Guard  passed  without  intermission,  bands 
playing,  bugles  and  drums,  and  officers  at  their  head.  They 
carried  wreaths  of  immortelles,  tied  with  crape  and  red  rib- 
bons,and  placed  them  around  the  statue  of  Liberty  in  the  Place 
de  la  Bastille.  During  the  next  five  days  a  hundred  and  fifty 
battalions  came  and  did  the  same  thing.  Each  one  did 
exactly  as  all  the  rest      Thn  delegates,  preceded  by  drummers 


THE    CAF£    CARDINAL  9 

and  buglers  or  by  bands,  with  their  officers  and  flags,  entered 
through  the  gate  opposite  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine  and  passed 
around  the  column  inside  the  railing.  The  commissionaires 
wore  a  red  cocarde.  When  they  halted,  these  fellows  in  red 
took  the  wreaths  and  flags,  each  inscribed  with  the  number 
of  the  company  and  battalion  and  placed  them  before  the 
pedestal.  Then  the  commandant  uncovered,  the  drums  beat 
the  long  roll,  the  bands  played  a  patriotic  air,  and  everybody 
shouted,  '  Vive  la  Republique  !  '  Usually  an  officer  made  a 
speech,  which  always  began  in  the  same  way,  something  like 
this  :  '  The  people  of  Paris,  honouring  the  memory  of  those 
illustrious  victims  who  died  in  defending  Liberty,  mean  to 
to  defend  the  Republic  to  the  death.'  " 

"  They  kept  up  their  parades  too,"  said  Ellice,  "  every  day, 
and  toward  the  end  of  the  month  they  grew  rather — rather 
menacing,  I  thought " 

"  More  patriotic  you  mean,"  interposed  Mademoiselle 
Yn6s. 

"  Well,"  said  Landes,  "  I  heard  an  officer  of  the  238th 
battalion  say  :  '  Monopolists  and  tyrants  think  the  people 
under  age,  but  sometimes  the  people  wake  up  and  claim 
their  majority  unexpectedly.  We  speak,'  he  said,  '  of  '93, 
of  1830  and  '48  ;  who  knows  if  our  children  will  not  add  to 
these,  1871  ?  '  I  thought  it  was  only  blow  at  the  time  but 
now  I'm  not  so  sure." 

"  After  all,"  said  Ellice,  "  this  National  Guard  is  a  pretty 
poor  organ  zation,  seems  to  me.  They  only  grew  war-like 
after  the  Prussians  had  left  Paris.  I'd  back  one  regiment 
of  the  Line  against  the  whole  two  hundred  and  fifty  battalions 
of  the  National  Guard." 

"  They  certainly  have  a  fondness  for  blowing  bugles  and 
it  is  very  tiresome,"  laughed  Ynes,  "  but  I  thunk  they  are 
good  Republicans." 

"Blowing  bugles  and  parading,"  repeated  Ellice,  "they 
parade  every  day  and  all  day." 

"  Yes,"  said  Landes  drily,  "  and  the  other  day  they  paraded 
their  cannon  out  of  sight." 

"  Out  of  sight  ?  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Oh,  pas  du  tout  ! 
They  are  quite  easy  to  be  seen  winking  and  blinking  in  the 
sun  up  on  Montmartre.  You  must  take  me  up  there  to- 
morrow, Jack,  every  one  is  going." 

"  Now,  see  how  these  Parisians  play  with  danger,"  said 


10  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Landes.  "  Do  you  think  it  amusing  that  an  organized 
militia  seizes  two  hundred  and  fifty  odd  pieces  of  cannon 
from  the  park  in  the  Cour-la-Reine  and  drags  them  up  to 
the  heights  of  Montmartre  and  trains  them  on  the  city?" 

"  It  was  to  save  them  from  being  handed  over  to  the 
Germans,"  said  Ynes  ;  "  Thiers  would  have  given  them  up 
to  Bismarck." 

"  Oh,  never  !  "    protested  Landes. 

"  Pardon,"  murmured  Ynes,  obstinately. 

Landes  smiled  and  waived  the  question. 

"  Anyway,  Ynes,"  said  Jack  Ellice,  "  you  must  confess 
it's  making  pretty  free  with  government  property." 

"  Pardon,"  said  Mademoiselle  Falaise  again  and  set  her 
pretty  teeth.  "  The  cannon  belong  to  the  National  Guard. 
Every  soldier  in  each  battalion  gave  something  toward  paying 
for  them,  so  did  the  families  and  friends  of  the  soldiers. 
I  gave  ten  francs,  all  I  had  at  the  time.  They  were  built 
during  the  siege  for  the  National  Guard  and  paid  for  as 
I  have  just  told  you.  They  don't  belong  to  the  government 
at  all  !  '  and  Mademoiselle  tossed  her  head  and  looked 
very  decided. 

"  All  the  same,  Thiers  ought  to  have  shown  spirit  enough 
to  prevent  their  removal  and  placing  where  they  are.  It's 
a  menace  pure  and  simple,"  said  Ellice. 

"  Who  gave  the  order  for  their  removal  ?  '  inquired 
Landes,  picking  up  a  pear  and  smiling  at  Ynes'  impatience 
of  their  seriousness. 

"  The  Central  Committee,"  she  answered. 

"  Precisely  !  And  the  Parisians  say  that  the  Central 
Committee  does  not  exist!  And  Montmartre  bristles  with 
artillery  which  could  lay  Paris  in  ashes,  and  you  think  it  a 
good  joke.  The  illustrated  papers  make  caricatures  about  it. 
If  Thiers  isn't  a  fool,  he'll  send  a  Line  regiment  up  there  to 
fetch  them  within  the  next  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Monsieur  Thiers  is  a  nobody,"  announced  Mademoiselle 
Falaise.  "  Monsieur  Ellice,  are  you  going  to  take  me  to  the 
theatre  ?  " 

They  ali  rose.  Landes  walked  with  the  others  to  the  door, 
and  they  stood  a  moment  chatting  on  the  Boulevard  St. 
Michel,  then  crying  :  "  Au  revoir  !  A  demain  done  !  "  they 
separated,  Landes  turning  up  toward  the  Luxembourg 
Gardens,  and  Ellice  escorting  Mademoiselle  Falaise  to  the 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCORT  II 

Folies-St-Antoine,  where  she  had  a  speaking  part  in  the  new 
farce,  "  Paris  Upside  Down,"  and  was  receiving  fifty  francs 
a  week  and  some  applause. 


CHAPTER  II 

Philip  acts  as  Escort 

After  taking  leave  of  Jack  and  Ynes,  Philip  walked  slowly 
up  the  St.  Michel  and  sat  down  on  a  Boulevard  bench. 
Mechanically  he  took  off  his  hat  to  enjoy  the  spring  breeze. 

"  The  first  soft  air,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  that  has 
entered  the  sad  city,  since  her  gates  closed  in  autumn  and  the 
state  of  siege  was  proclaimed."  This  started  several  trains 
of  thought  at  once,  which  he  followed,  not  because  he  wanted 
to,  but  because  they  persisted,  getting  themselves  more  or 
less  mixed  up  and  intertwisted  as  trains  of  thought  will ;  the 
scene  in  Cafe  Cardinal,  the  talk  with  Jack  and  Ynes,  and 
now  this  first  touch  of  returning  spring,  reminding  him  of 
light-hearted  springtimes  that  came  and  went  before  the 
troubles  began. 

It  was  the  16th  day  of  March,  1871. 

On  the  20th  of  January  preceding,  General  Trochu, 
Governor  of  Pans,  had  lost  his  last  battle  under  the  walls, 
and  had  published  the  following  despatch  : 


NOTICE  ! 

IT  IS  NOW  URGENTLY  NECESSARY  TO  SEND  A  FLAG  OF 
TRUCE  TO  SEVRES,  DEMANDING  AN  ARMISTICE  OF  TWO 
DAYS,  FOR  THE  REMOVAL  OF  THE  WOUNDED,  AND  THE 
BURIAL    OF    THE    DEAD. 

WAGONS,  STOUTLY  BUILT  AND  WELL  EQUIPPED,  ARE 
WANTED,  ALSO  THE  LARGEST  POSSIBLE  NUMBER  OF 
STRETCHERS. 

LOSE  NO  TIME,    BUT  WORK   ! 


Landes  went  out  with  the  American  ambulance.     Before 
he  returned,  Paris  had  surrendered. 

Poor  General  Trochu  !     In  the  beginning  he  had   cried, 


12  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'  The  Governor  of  Paris  will  not  surrender  !  "  but  hunger, 
bitter  cold,  and  a  dissatisfied  public  told  heavily  on  the 
resolution  of  the  Governor  of  Paris.  Sortie  after  sortie 
failed  to  break  the  ring  of  German  bayonets.  The  people 
clamoured  for  another  and  still  another  effort.  He  sent  out 
thousands  of  men  to  face  their  fate.  They  went  gladly. 
Few  of  them  ever  returned.  Yet  even  when  the  shattered 
remnants  of  their  troops  crept  back  through  the  gates  of  the 
fortifications,  the  people  cried,  "  The  Governor  of  Paris 
must  not  surrender  !  " 

On  the  21st  of  January,  the  people  read  in  placards  on  the 
walls  that  the  Government  of  National  Defence  had  decided 
to  separate  the  offices  of  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army 
and  President  of  the  Government,  that  General  Vinoy  was 
appointed  Commandant  of  the  Army  of  Paris,  that  the  title 
and  functions  of  Governor  of  Paris  were  suppressed,  and  that 
General. Trochu  was  to  remain  President  of  the  Government. 

On  the  ist  day  of  March,  as  the  morning  bells  sounded 
eight  o'clock,  the  first  German  of  the  advanced  guard  passed 
the  fortifications  of  Neuilly.  At  half-past  ten,  the  German 
army  being  massed  on  the  meadow  of  Longchamps,  the  Crown 
Prince  passed  along  the  cheering  lines.  At  ten  minutes  to 
eleven,  the  cheers  rolled  out  in  a  deafening  "  Hoch  dem 
Konig  !  "  and  King  William  galloped  across  the  meadow  to 
the  windmill,  where  his  son  was  waiting  to  receive  him. 
Then  all  the  splendid  German  bands  crashed  out  with  the 
hymn  "  Heil  dir  im  Siegeskranz  !  " 

The  echo  of  that  triumphant  music  was  still  sounding  in 
Paris  over  the  Seine,  among  the  shell-torn  houses  of  the  left 
bank,  and  in  the  bitter  hearts  of  the  people.  Landes  heard 
it,  now,  as  he  sat  musing,  his  eyes  bent  on  his  cane,  with  which 
he  was  absently  beating  a  tattoo  on  the  curb. 

"  Monsieur  Ph.Lp,"  whispered  a  voice  behind  him.  He 
swung  around  and  jumped  up. 

"  Faustine  !  "  he  exclaimed  "  What's  the  matter  ?  What 
are  you  crymg  for  ?  " 

At  first  she  would  do  nothing  but  lean  against  a  tree  and 
sob  qu.etly.  After  a  while  he  persuaded  her  to  sit  down, 
and  then,  1  ght  ng  a  cigarette,  he  wa.ted  for  her  to  speak 
when  bhe  should  be  ready.  He  knew  she  would  not  have 
come  to  h.m  .f  she  had  not  had  someth  ng  to  say. 

The  Place  de  Medici  was  not  well  lighted.     The  petroleum 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCOItl  1 3 

lamps,  which  had  hung  from  the  gilded  iron  railing  of  the 
Luxembourg  Gardens  during  the  siege  were  now  removed, 
and  the  gas  burned  dimly,  at  long  intervals,  on  some  of  the 
gas  posts.  The  light  from  the  Cafe  d'lena  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel  illumined  the  fountain  in  the 
Place  de  Medici,  but  hardly  penetrated  to  the  Gardens. 
Under  the  black  arcades  of  the  Odeon,  a  lantern  or  two 
glimmered  feebly.  Few  people  passed  ;  no  one  paid  the 
slightest  attention  to  them.  A  woman's  sobs  could  scarcely 
attract  attention  in  a  city  which  for  six  months  had  heard 
little  else.  Landes  smoked  and  waited,  still  beating  a  gentle 
tattoo  on  the  curbstone. 

After  a  while,  Faustine  stopped  crying  and  sat  up,  drying 
her  eyes,  and  arranging  her  veil.  Then  he  leaned  toward 
her  with  a  pleasant,  "  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Faustine  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  smiled,  but  her  lip  trembled  ;  "  nothing 
unless  you  can  bring  back  old  times,  Monsieur  Philip." 

"  Oh,  they'll  come  back  all  right,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
not  in  the  least  believing  it.  "  It  will  be  just  the  same  when 
the  chestnuts  are  in  blossom — our  own  set,  you  know,  when 
we  can  get  together  again,  you,  Yn6s,  Jack  Ellice,  Georges 
Carridre " 

"  Killed  at  Champigny  !  " 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Landes,  soberly.  "  Well,  there  are 
Alfred  d'Aunay,  and  Armand  Riviere " 

"  Armand  !  Oh,  Monsieur  Philip,  he  was  sabred  by  the 
Prussians  !  " 

"  I  never  heard  that,"  Landes  said,  and  then  there  was  a 
ong  silence. 

"  Everyone — everything  is  changed,  is  changing,"  she 
began  again.  "  Friends  are  no  longer  friends,  comrades  turn 
on  one,  people  one  would  not  have  spoken  to  in  the  old  days 
give  orders  now,  and — strike  !  '  Her  voice  was  very  low 
and  full  of  bitter  resentment.  Landes  looked  up  sharply, 
as  if  he  would  ask  a  question,  but  changed  his  mind  and 
waited. 

"  No,"  she  went  on,  "  I  shall  never  be  happy  again.  Do 
you  remember  how  gay  we  were  here  in  the  Quarter,  Francine 
and  Wyeth  Vernon,  Mariette  and  Georges  Carriere  ;  — then 
you,  Jack  Ellice,  Ynes  Falaise,  and  I,  who  were  nothing  but 
good  comrades  and  oh  !  so  happy  !  '  She  laid  a  gloved 
hand  on  his  arm. 


14  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"My  poor  Philip,  don't  you  understand?  That  is  all 
over.  Can  you  make  this  the  same  city  it  was  then  ?  Can 
you  make  us  the  same  people  we  were  then  ?  Can  you  bring 
Georges  back  from  the  held  of  Champigny, — and  the  smile  to 
Mariette's  eyes  ?  If  one  dragged  the  bottom  of  the  Loiret, 
there  would  be  Armand  with  a  sabre  cut  across  his  face.  And 
when  we  go  down  the  Rue  du  Bac,  we  pass  the  place  where 
Francine  was  killed  by  a  shell, — you  saw  her  lying  in  the 
street  with  her  pretty  gray  jacket  all  ripped  and  splashed  ; — 
Wyeth  Vernon  was  walking  so  near  her,  that  his  sleeve  was 
drenched  with  her  blood.  He  used  to  blush  when  she 
called  him  stupid,  and  follow  her  about  everywhere.  He 
doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  himself  now.  You  may  see 
him  any  day  on  a  bench  in  the  Gardens  there.  I  tell  you," 
she  went  on  excitedly,  "  the  shadow  of  the  Prussian  eagle 
wraps  the  city  still,  and  his  talons  are  in  my  heart  !  ' 

'  Oh  !  Oh  !  Come,  Faustine,  not  so  tragic,"  said  Landes, 
speaking  very  gently.  "  And  by  the  way,  I  don't  wonder 
you  think  the  decent  people  are  all  dead,  if  you  take  up  with 
the  sort  I  saw  you  with  to-day." 

'  Yes  !  Why  do  I  lower  myself  to  become  the  comrade 
of  such  men  as  Sarre  and  Rigault,  /,  Faustine  Courtois  !  ' 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  he  replied  sharply. 

"  Because  they  are  Revolutionists,"  she  cried  recklessly. 
"  Because  they  plot " 

"  A  la  Grande  Duchesse,"  put  in  Landes. 

She  checked  herself  and  asked  quietly,  "  my  poor  Philip, 
do  you  think  it  is  a  farce  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  anything  Sarre  and  Rigault  manage  will  be 
a  farce  fit  for  the  Palais  Royal.  But  that  is  not  the  point 
at  present.  Low  as  they  are,  their  friends  are  lower.  What 
is  a  girl  like  you  doing  in  the  company  of  a  creature  like 
Tribert?" 

Faustine  hung  her  head. 

"  1  thought  I  could  endure  him  because  he  works  for  the 
Republic,  and  I  hate — mon  Dieu,  how  I  hate  the  Empire — 
the  Germans  and  Thiers.  I  had  nothing  else  to  give,  so  I 
gave  myself." 

"  That  was  a  mistake."  Landes  spoke  very  dryly.  His 
tone  seemed  to  .sting  Faustine  beyond  endurance. 

"  A  mistake,"  she  cried,  "  and  what  will  you  call  it  when 
I  tell  you  that  to-day  he  struck  me?" 


PHILIP   ACTS    AS    ESCORT  1 5 

Philip  was  silent.  "  Faustine,"  he  said  at  length,  "  this 
is  dropping  pretty  low." 

She  began  to  sob  again,  violently. 

"  When  did  the  creature  strike  you,  and  why  ?  '  he 
demanded. 

'  This  evening,  after  I — we  had  gone  home." 

"  But  why,"  insisted  Philip. 

"  Because  I  took  your  part  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal  to-day, 
and  because  of  something  I  said  last  night." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  I  told  them " 

"Them?" 

"  Yes.  Rigault,  Sarre,  Tribert,  and  the  rest,  that  the 
Revolution  would  never  prosper  on  crimes  like  those  they 
were  planning.  He  said  he  would  beat  me  if  I  said  that 
again,  and  to-night  he  did  so." 

Landes  listened,  shocked  beyond  measure.  "  What  crimes, 
Faustine  ?  " 

For  answer  she  only  wept  and  kept  repeating,  "  I  am  not 
a  traitress  !  but  neither  am  I  a  thief,"  and  he  could  get 
nothing  else  from  her.  Presently  he  said :  '  You  and 
crime  !  My  poor  Faustine  !  I  never  thought  of  you  and  crime 
together." 

"  C'est  bien  !  '  she  cried  hysterically.  "  If  you  call 
robbing  the  Bank  of  France  to  get  money  for  the  Revolution 
a  crime,  then  you  may  call  me  what  you  will ;  for  when 
they  talked  of  that,  I  did  not  oppose  them.  And  they'll 
do  it,  too,  some  day.  But  when  it  comes  to  picking  pockets, 
and  murdering  old  men " 

"  What's  that  ?  "   cried  Landes. 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  they  would  stop  at  that  ?  It  was 
Tribert  who  planned  it,  and  then  I  told  him  I  hated  him, 
and  then — the  rest  happened.   He  struck  me, — that  canaille ! " 

"  And  the  murder  ? " 

"  Yes,  of  your  friend's  father,  Colonel  the  Count  de 
Brassac  !  " 

Landes  stood  up. 

"  This  is  too  much,"  he  said  sternly. 

Faustine  winced  at  his  tone,  and  her  head  sank  lower  than 
ever. 

"  It  is  that  I  came  to  warn  you,"  she  said  humbly. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  and  again  she  shrank  at  his  tone.     She 


l6  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

-poke  from  that  moment  in  a  suppressed  voice  of  intense 
suffering.  Philip  remembered  afterward,  but  at  the  time 
he  was  wholly  preoccupied  with  what  she  had  to  tell  him. 

"  Go  on,  Faustine,"  he  repeated. 

She  began  in  a  dull,  mechanical  voice,  but  clearly  : 

"  Colonel  the  Count  de  Brassac,  father  of  Victor  de  Brassac, 
your  friend,  n'est-ce  pas? — who  won  the  Prix  de  Rome 
and  died  three  years  ago — " 

"Well?" 

"  Colonel  de  Brassac  led  the  cavalry  at  Klarbrunnen,  and 
was  taken  prisoner.  He  was  paroled  to  his  home  in  Chartres. 
Three  days  ago  he  arrived  in  Paris.     You  know  all  this  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.     His  arrival  was  in  all  the  papers." 

"  Last  night,  Sarre  came  to  us  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal,  and 
took  us  to  his  own  place.  There  he  told  us  that  the  Count 
de  Brassac  had  brought  with  him  some  family  jewels  to  place 
for  safe  keeping  in  the  Bank  of  France.  He  would  not  tell 
us  how  he  knew  it,  but  he  said  the  Count  was  very  careless 
with  the  jewels,  carrying  them  in  a  small  bag  in  his  pocket, 
and  often  going  out  alone.  Then  Tribert  said  it  would  be 
very  easy  to  rob  him,  and  that  he  had  better  be  killed  too, 
as  that  would  make  less  trouble." 

"  I  shall  warn  Colonel  de  Brassac  !  "  said  Philip,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  It  is  what  I  wished.  But  I  am  not  a  traitress,  I  am 
not  !  " 

Landes  was  so  preoccupied  with  digust  and  indignation, 
as  well  as  alarm,  that  he  failed  to  notice  her  painful  self- 
defence,  but  he  recalled  it  afterward. 

"  Mazas  and  the  guillotine  will  find  your  friends  all  in  good 
time,  Faustine.  Meanwhile,  hadn't  you  better  cut  loose 
from  them  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  back  to  them,"  she  replied  doggedly,  "  and 
work  for  the  Republic  ;  without  crime  and  Tribert  if  I  can, 
with  them  if  I  must.  Dear  Monsieur  Philip,"  she  broke  out 
pitifully,  "  you  stare  at  me  so  strangely  !  " 

Landes  looked  at  her,  puzzled.  How  changed  she  was. 
The  associate  of  criminals  ? — he  could  not  believe  it.  Yet 
if  she  was  indeed  that,  why  did  she  betray  them  ?  Was  it 
revenge  for  the  blow  ?  If  so,  the  revenge  was  worthy  of 
the  company  she  kept.  The  thought  sickened  him.  She- 
read  it  in  his  eyes,  turned  very  pale,  and  rose. 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCORT  1 7 

"  No,"  she  said  gently,  "  you  are  wrong.  It  is  not  revenge. 
I  have  told  you  because  the  Count  de  Brassac  is  your  friend, 
and  you  are  Philip  Landes, — whom  I  love  !  " 

Landes  started  and  stepped  back.  "  Nonsense  !  "  he 
began,  but  Faustine  was  already  hurrying  away. 

He  stood  and  watched  her  while  she  crossed  the  Boulevard 
St.  Michel,  and  turned  into  the  Rue  Souflot.  He  believed 
she  had  told  the  truth,  both  about  the  facts  and  her  motive 
for  revealing  them.  For  one  thing,  Faustine  never  lied. 
He  could  see  that,  for  the  time  at  least,  Faustine  loved  him, 
but  that  did  not  strike  him  as  of  much  importance.  He  was 
used  to  the  caprices  of  Latin- Quarter  girls,  and  being  of  a 
healthy  mind,  he  did  not  regard  them  very  seriously  as  a 
rule.  He  had  never  cared  for  one  of  her  kind,  except  in  the 
way  of  good  comradeship.  Looking  now  after  Faustine,  he 
felt  for  one  moment  a  touch  of  the  tenderness  which  always 
moves  a  man  toward  a  woman  who  loves  him, — unless  she 
interferes  with  his  love  for  some  other  woman.  The  feeling 
was  gone  before  she  had  disappeared,  hurrying  down  the  Rue 
Souflot,  but  he  stood  a  moment  longer,  musing  upon  the  gay 
times  which  she  had  just  reminded  him  could  never  be 
recalled,  and  thinking  regretfully  how  she  was  changed  for 
the  worse.  Six  months  ago  she  had  been  a  girl  of  the 
Quarter,  educated,  clever,  charming,  full  of  gaiety,  never 
sentimental,  a  perfect  comrade  for  a  young  student  occupied 
in  making  day  and  night  a  masterpiece  of  pleasure  as  he 
understood  it.  Landes  had  inherited  healthy  blood,  and  his 
idea  of  pleasure  did  not  include  the  craving  ache  of  vice, 
but  it  did  include  an  undue  proportion  of  childish  play. 
He  found  perfect  satisfaction  for  some  of  his  needs  in  gallop- 
ing through  Meudon  woods,  in  fishing  the  still  pools  of  the 
Caillette,  in  romping  over  the  fragrant  meadows  of  Versailles. 
Faustine  galloped,  fished,  and  romped,  yet  she  was  never 
vulgar,  never  tiresome,  she  never  lost  a  certain  dainty 
politeness,  even  when  she  lost  her  temper.  He  supposed 
she  had  various  affairs  about  which  he  knew  nothing,  and 
cared  less,  but  for  him  she  was  merely  an  excellent  playmate, 
in  those  days  when  he  was  still  a  boy  at  heart. 

Sometimes  he  found  his  reputation  for  morality  a  little 
irksome  in  the  Quarter,  where  good  morals  and  white  black- 
birds are  equally  rare.  He  chafed  a  little  now  and  then, 
when  it  became  too  evident  that  St.  Anthony  was  considered 


I 8  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

to  be  nowhere  compared  with  him,  but  hard  work  in  the 
licole  des  Beaux  Arts,  and  hard  play  outside  of  the  school, 
left  him  not  much  interest  for  what  others  were  saying  of 
him.  And  now  he  stood  watching  Faustine  as  she  dis- 
appeared down  the  Rue  Souflot,  and  it  seemed  a  dream  that 
less  than  one  year  ago  life  had  been  so  young  and  irrespon- 
sible and  gay. 

Throwing  away  his  cigarette,  he  sighed  and  buttoned  his 
overcoat  close,  for  the  spring  balm  was  gone  from  the  air, 
and  the  night  winds  were  rising.  Walking  swiftly  down  the 
Rue  de  Medici,  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard 
to  the  Odeon,  and  entered  the  telegraph  office  in  the  Palais 
du  Senat.  Taking  up  some  blanks,  he  began  to  compose  a 
message,  then  stopped  short.  It  rushed  upon  him  all  at 
once  that  he  had  not  the  Count  de  Brassac's  address.  He 
had  forgotten  to  ask  it,  and  Faustine  had  suddenly  broken 
away  without  remembering  to  tell  him  if  she  knew  it.  The 
hotel  where  the  family  had  formerly  lived  when  in  Paris  had 
been  sold  since  Victor's  death,  followed  very  shortly  by  the 
death  of  his  mother.  The  old  Count  and  his  daughter  had 
been  living  at  Chartres  when  the  war  began,  and  Landes  had 
not  an  idea  where  the  Count  would  be  stopping  now.  His 
eye  fell  on  the  military  operator  who  was  looking  sharply 
at  him,  and  he  promptly  walked  into  the  inner  office,  and 
saluted  this  gentleman  with  one  of  those  bows  which  a 
Frenchman  knows  how  to  perform  and  to  appreciate.  When 
in  excellent  French  Landes  asked  for  the  address  of  Colonel 
the  Count  de  Brassac,  Thirtieth  Hussars  of  the  Guard, 
Division  d'Hericourt,  late  prisoner  of  war  at  Klarbrunnen, 
the  operator  was  no  longer  suspicious,  and  politely  begged  him 
to  wait.  He  brought  out  a  bulky  volume,  and  ran  over  the 
pages,  Landes  watching  him  with  interest,  a  sentry  with 
loaded  chassepot  peering  in  at  Landes  through  the  barred 
window. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Brassac  is  domiciled  at  Chartres, 
subject  to  orders  from  General  Vinoy,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
search. 

"  But  I  know  that,"  said  Landes,  "  he  came  to  Paris 
recently,  and  I  thought  you  might  be  able  to  tell  me  where 
I  could  get  his  address."  The  operator  set  the  keys  clicking. 
Almost  immediately  answering  clicks  came  back,  and  he 
reappeared  at  the  post-office  window. 


PHILIP   ACTS    AS    ESCORT  10, 

"  I  have  telegraphed  to  the  Ministry  of  War,"  he  said  ; 
"  Colonel  de  Brassac  has  just  left  General  Vinoy  to  return 
to  his  hotel  in  the  Rue  Faublas,  Number  13." 

"  Ah  !  Then  I  know  the  house  well.  Many  thanks,  mon 
capitaine,"  and  with  another  ceremonious  salute  Landes 
departed,  leaving  the  official  thoroughly  delighted  at  having 
been  mistaken  for  a  captain  by  such  a  distinguished  gentle- 
man. 

Philip  crossed  the  street,  and,  entering  the  Rue  Monsieur 
le  Prince,  cut  through  the  Rue  des  Mauvais  Menages,  crossed 
the    Impasse   Lombard,    and   turned   up   the  Rue  Faublas. 

Four  years  ago  his  friend  of  the  Atelier,  Victor  de  Brassac, 
had  invited  him  to  spend  the  Christmas  holidays  with  his 
family  in  the  little  hotel  there  on  the  corner.  One  year 
later  Victor  died  in  Rome,  at  the  Villa  Medici.  Landes  had 
attended  his  friend's  funeral  at  St.  Sulpice,  and  had  been 
affectionately  received  by  his  friend's  parents  when  he  went 
to  them  afterwards.  But  in  a  few  days  they  left  for  Nice,  and 
soon  after  the  mother  died.  Only  the  Count  was  left  and  his 
daughter  Jeanne.  They  went  to  live  at  Chartres,  and  Philip 
had  never  seen  them  since. 

Landes  walked  slowly  up  to  the  gate  and  rang  the  bell. 
The  same  old  porter  came  toddling  out  of  his  lodge,  and 
admitted  him  into  the  court,  where  a  servant  met  and  led 
him  through  the  garden,  and  into  the  house. 

When  the  servant  had  gone  away  with  his  card,  Landes 
stood  and  looked  about  the  drawing-room.  It  had  never 
been  refurnished.  There  stood  the  same  piano  where 
Victor  s  young  sister,  Jeanne,  home  for  her  school  holidays, 
had  played  her  little  convent  pieces,  but  there  was  no  warm 
glow  of  a  sea-coal  fire  in  the  empty  grate,  and  in  the  light 
from  a  single  lamp  the  familiar  colours  looked  pale  and 
faded.  The  Colonel  entered,  and  Landes  was  shocked  at 
the  change  in  him.  He  had  grown  old  and  white  and  small. 
His  uniform  glittered  on  him  like  a  jewelled  case  on  a  mummy. 
He  came  to  Philip  with  both  hands  outstretched. 

'  My  son's  friend  !  You  are  welcome,  Monsieur  Landes." 
Then  they  sat  down  and  spoke  of  Victor  and  the  Prix  de  Rome 
and  his  first  envoi,  of  his  death,  and  of  his  mother's  death. 

'  My  wife  died  of  a  broken  heart,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  I  know  it,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  Philip,  and  they  were 
silent,  looking  sadly  at  each  other  in  the  faded  room. 


20  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'And  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac?'  said  Philip,  after  a 
while  ;  '  happily,  she  escaped  the  siege.  I  hope  she  is  well." 
'  My  daughter  is  well,  and  is  with  me  in  Paris,  though 
not  at  this  hotel.  I  sold  it  at  the  time,  and  we  have  lived 
ever  since  at  Chartres.  But  the  present  owner,  who  lives 
in  London  since  the  troubles,  placed  the  house  at  my  disposal, 
when  I  returned  to  Paris.  But  I  only  come  here  sometimes 
from  the  War  Office,  because  it  is  so  near.  The  house  is 
too  full  of  memories  for  my  little  girl.  Jeanne  and  I  are 
stopping  in  the  Hotel  Perret  in  the  Place  Pigalle,  but  we 
return  to  Chartres  on  the  18th  of  March,  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. All  our  friends  are  gone  from  Paris.  There  is 
not  one  left  to  whom  I  could  confide  Jeanne,  and  she  can't 
be  here  alone.  Come  to  us  before  we  go.  Come  to  Chartres 
when  you  can,  to  the  Chateau  de  Brassac."  And  then  they 
spoke  of  war,  of  humiliation  and  disaster  and  defeat,  of  the 
siege  and  its  horrors,  the  insubordination  of  the  National 
Guard,  the  removal  of  the  cannon,  and  what  it  threatened. 

All  this  time  Landes  had  been  wondering  how  he  should 
say  what  he  had  come  to  say.  He  felt  his  youth,  and  had  a 
horror  of  seeming  officious.  He  cast  about  in  his  mind  for 
a  way  to  approach  the  subject,  and  ended  by  going  straight 
to  the  point. 

"  Count  de  Brassac,"  he  said,  standing  up,  "  I  heard  an 
hour  ago  that  you  are  in  personal  danger.  Some  ruffians 
have  learned,  or  think  they  have,  that  you  carry  about  with 
you  some  valuable  diamonds,  and  they  have  planned  to  way- 
lay and  rob  you." 

The  Count  rose  too.  "  That  is  true,"  he  said  quietly, 
'  however  it  has  become  known.  I  did  bring  a  small  bag 
of  diamonds  up  with  me  to  deposit  in  the  Bank  of  France. 
They  are  about  all  Jeanne  will  have  at  my  death.  I  have 
almost  nothing  else  left  except  the  Chateau,  and  old 
chateaux  don't  bring  much  in  the  market  nowadays,"  he 
added,  rather  bitterly.  "  There  were  two  attempts  at 
burglary  made  at  our  house  in  Chartres,  showing  some  one 
knew  they  were  there,  so  I  came  up  to  Paris  with  them." 

"  But  pardon  !—  it  is  such  a  risk  to  carry  them  about." 

'  I  did  not  mean  to.  I  have  tried  twice  already  to  see 
the  Marquis  de  Ploeuc  of  the  Bank  of  France.  To-night  I 
have  an  appointment  to  meet  him  at  the  Luxembourg. 
Perhaps  he  will  receive  and  put  them  somewhere  in  safe 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCORT  21 

keeping  to-night ;  if  not,  to-morrow  they  will  be  deposited 
in  the  Bank  of  France." 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  said  Landes,  unable  quite  to 
restrain  his  impatience.  "  The  criminal  element  here  is 
growing  more  openly  threatening  than  I  have  ever  seen  it. 
I  never  before  encountered,  in  all  Paris,  so  many  hang-dog 
faces  as  I  now  meet  daily  in  the  Latin  Quarter.  Pardon, 
Count,  but,  indeed,  it  is  not  safe  to  carry  those  jewels  on  your 
person.  You  see  there  are  already  some  thieves  and  cut- 
throats who  know  about  them." 

"  So  it  appears,"  said  the  old  soldier,  dryly.  "  Would 
it  interest  you  to  look  at  what  Messieurs  the  pickpockets 
find  so  desirable  ?  He  drew  a  small  leather  bag  from  the 
pocket  of  his  dolman  and  handed  it  to  Philip.  "  Open  it," 
he  said,  smiling.  A  small  cascade  of  flashing  stones  fell  on 
to  a  table  beside  them.  The  gems  were  large  and  of  splendid 
lustre.  The  sight  increased  Landes'  uneasiness  and  he 
ventured  to  press  his  warning  more  urgently. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Count,  "  I  confess  I  cannot  feel  that  there 
is  really  any  danger,  but  if  there  is,  it  will  soon  be  over. 
Either  to-night,  or  to-morrow  at  the  latest,  they  will  be  in 
safe  keeping.  And,  pardon  me,  but  it  only  wants  a  quarter 
of  the  hour  when  I  must  be  at  the  Luxembourg." 

"  Will  you  let  me  accompany  you  ?  " 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have 
your  company, — one  moment  to  change  my  uniform.  But 
first  permit  me — "  and  he  offered  Landes  a  glass  of  wine 
from  a  tray  the  servant  placed  before  him.  They  bowed  to 
each  other  and  drank  in  silence.  As  the  Count  set  down  his 
glass,  he  said  once  more  :  "  Monsieur,  you  were  my  son's 
friend."  He  excused  himself  and  withdrew,  quickly  return- 
ing in  a  simple  fatigue  jacket  without  a  sword  belt.  Philip 
noted  this,  but  as  a  young  man  and  a  civilian  he  felt  it 
impossible  to  say  anything  ;  besides  he  could  not  but  hope 
that  the  Colonel  would  at  least  have  a  revolver  in  his  pocket. 
All  the  more  that  now  he  saw  how  few  precautions  of  that  sort 
his  old  friend  was  inclined  to  take,  he  regretted  bitterly 
his  own  habit  of  going  unarmed. 

They  traversed  the  court,  and,  passing  through  the  gate, 
entered  the  dark  street.  It  was  quite  deserted.  They 
walked  along  in  silence,  the  Colonel's  spurs  ringing  faintly 
with  the  rhythmic  tap  of  Landes'  cane.     A  single  gas  jet 


22  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

illuminated  the  Rue  Faublas,  but  when  they  turned  into  the 
narrow  Impasse  Lombard  not  a  ray  of  light  remained.  The 
tall  old  houses  were  closed  and  silent ;  the  stream  of  water 
running  along  the  gutter  rippled  like  a  mountain  brook  in 
the  silence. 

"  Do  I  walk  too  fast  ?  "    asked  Philip. 

"  No,  my  child,"  said  the  old  officer,  and  his  voice  showed 
that  he  was  smiling.  "  Do  you  think  I  am  a  pensionnaire 
of  the  Invalides  ?  " 

"  Not  after  Klarbrunnen,"  began  Philip,  but  just  then 
they  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Mauvais-Menages, 
and  he  stopped  short. 

"  Well,  mon  enfant  ?  "  inquired  the  Colonel,  striding  ahead. 

"  I  thought  we  were  followed,"  said  Landes,  peering  back 
into  the  darkness. 

"  I  thought  so  too,"  said  the  Colonel. 

They  went  on  quietly,  but  heard  nothing  except  their  own 
footsteps.     They  reached  the  Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince. 

"  How  dark  it  looks,'  murmured  Landes,  "  and  not  a 
thing  stirring,  not  even  a  cat." 

"  You  ate  all  the  tabbies  last  winter,"  began  the  Colonel, 
laughing.     Philip  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  There  come  the  steps  again,  always  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street."  They  stared  into  the  shadows  behind 
them.     "  You  have  your  revolver?  "   said  Landes. 

"  No,  I  have  not.     I  am  to  blame,  Philip,  but  you ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  carry  one,  and  to-night  I  did  not  know  that 
one  would  be  needed.  I  came  to  you  on  very  short  notice, — 
the  moment  I  was  warned  myself.     But  my  stick  is  heavy — " 

"  I  am  to  blame,"  repeated  the  old  soldier ;  "it  was  a 
foolish  act  to  leave  the  revolver.  But  I  think,  after  all,  we 
were  mistaken.  Listen,  we  are  not  followed."  They 
listened  ;  not  a  step  could  be  heard.  The)'  turned  into  the 
Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince ;  that  was  better  lighted,  and  a  few 
people  were  afoot  there.  Landes  drew  a  long  breath  as  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  gilded  iron  railing  of  the  Luxembourg. 
"  Now  !  "  he  thought,  but  to  his  amazement  the  Count  kept 
straight  on,  and  entered  the  Gardens  by  the  gate  of  the 
Fountain  of  Marie  de  Medici.  Landes  followed,  protesting 
earnestly. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  '  said  the  Count  laughing,  "  what  would 
vou  have  ?     It  is  the  short  cut." 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCORT  23 

"  But  it  is  only  a  few  moments  longer  by  the  street,"  urged 
Landes,  "  and  these  trees  are  too  thick  for  a  dark  night." 
'  Not  for  young  eyes  like  yours  and  mine,"  persisted  the 
old  soldier,  and  Philip  chafed  to  hear  the  smile  in  his  voice. 
But  he  followed  without  another  word,  and  they  crossed 
together  the  strip  of  turf  which  separates  the  shrub-grown 
path  from  the  long,  square  pool  of  the  fountain.  Here 
gigantic  sycamores  threw  their  shadow  on  the  gravel,  and 
a  thicket  of  shrubs,  dense,  although  leafless,  cast  a  deep  gloom 
over  the  shallow  reaches  of  the  pool. 

'  There  are  the  barracks,"  said  the  Count,  taking  off  his 
fatigue  cap,  and  passing  a  handkerchief  over  his  forehead. 
"  Mon  Dieu  !  How  you  walk,  Monsieur  the  American. 
Have  all  the  young  men  in  America  legs  like  that  ?  " 

Landes  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  thicket 
close  behind  him.  Quick  as  a  flash  he  raised  his  stick  and 
at  the  same  moment  Sarre  felled  him  from  behind. 

When  he  recovered  consciousness,  and  the  roaring  in  his 
ears  had  partly  died  away,  he  heard  Tribert's  voice  very 
near  : 

"  Throw  that  American  into  the  water.  No,  don't  search 
him.  I  did  that.  What  the  devil  are  you  doing,  Sarre? 
Leave  the  Counjt  alone."  Then  he  swore  frightfully,  cursing 
Sarre  and  Georgias  by  name. 

'  The  Count  didn't  have  the  diamonds  on  him,  after  all," 
snarled  Georgias,  delivering  a  kick  at  Landes'  body. 

'  You  he,  you  bungling  Greek  !  I  tell  you  I  heard  them 
fall  into  the  water." 

"  If  you  would  look  more  carefully  in  his  clothes," — 
suggested  Sarre,  with  an  anxious  snicker. 

"  Oh,  you  make  me  sick,  you  scented,  fat-headed  bungler  ! 
The  bag  fell  into  the  water,  I  heard  it.  I  told  you  to  keep 
him  away  from  the  edge.     Unless  Pagot  comes  back  with  that 

light  pretty  d d  quick,  we'll  lose  the  diamonds,  and  if  he 

does  come,  they'll  see  it  at  the  corps  de  garde  and  be  down 
onus.  Georgias,  do  you  hear  ?  Help  me  drop  this  American 
pork  overboard." 

:'  On  the  bag  of  diamonds,"  giggled  Sarre,  nervously. 
"  Only  wait  till  Pagot  brings  a  light.  Damn  the  lazy  fool, 
why  don't  he  hurry  ?  Shall  I  slip  my  knife  into  the 
American  ?  He's  breathing  and  trying  to  turn  over,"  said 
Georgias. 
c 


24  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Yes,"  muttered  Tribert,  "  stick  him  deep  behind  the  ear. 
—Hark  !— is  that  Pagot  ?  " 

"  Qui  vive  ?  " 

"  Friends,"  stammered  Georgias. 

"  Halt  !  "  shouted  a  voice  behind  them,  with  a  rattle  of 
accoutrements  and  the  stamp  of  horses'  hoofs. 

'  The  cavalry  !  "  whispered  Tribert.  '  They  are  on  the 
grass  among  the  trees.  Stick  the  American  ! — stick  the 
American,  quick!  What  are  you  shaking  for? — idiot! 
fool  ! — Give  me  the  knife  ! — Give  it,  I  say  !  " 

"  Advance  three  paces,  friends  of  France,"  came  the  order 
close  beside  them. 

Tribert  seized  the  knife.     A  lantern  flashed  in  his  face. 

"  A  1' assassin  !  "  "A  1' assassin  !  "  came  the  startled  cry 
of  the  vedette,  and  bang  !  bang  !  bang  !  rang  the  cavalry 
carbines,  while  the  drums  crashed  out  in  the  guard-house 
below,  and  a  bugle  sent  the  echoes  flying  among  the  trees. 

"  Au  secours  !  "    gasped  Landes,  and  fainted  dead  away. 

"  Cochon  !  "     panted   Tribert,   hurling   the  knife   at   his 

throat.     "  Attrape  ton  secours  !  " 

******* 

Lights  were  dancing  before  Philip's  eyes  when  conscious- 
ness returned  again,  and  tall  figures  moved  slowly  about  him, 
in  apparently  aimless  circles.  After  a  while  his  mind  grew 
clearer,  and  he  began  to  remember.  Then  a  sudden  fear 
chilled  him  and  he  tried  to  rise  on  his  elbow. 

'  The  Count,"  he  said  weakly.  "  Where  is  the  Count 
de  Brassac  ?  " 

The  moving  figures  seemed  to  be  struck  motionless.  Some 
one  brought  a  light  close  to  him,  and  he  saw  that  he  was 
lying  on  a  military  cot  covered  with  soldiers'  blankets. 
He  was  in  a  big  gray  room  and  all  about  him  soldiers  moved. 
Their  motion  and  the  light  pained  his  eyes,  and  his  head 
ached  as  if  the  skull  would  fly  into  splinters. 

A  white-haired  officer  came,  and  another,  a  surgeon, 
readjusted  a  bandage  about  his  throat,  and  laid  something 
cool  over  his  eyes  and  forehead. 

"  Can  you  speak  ?  "    asked  the  officer. 

"  Yes,"  said  Landes,  but  his  own  voice  jarred  his  head, 
and  the  jar  sickened  him. 

"  You  were  attacked.     Do  you  remember  how? 

"  I  was  with  the  Count  de  Brassac.     He  stopped  a  moment 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCORT  25 

by  the  fountain  to  rest.  He  was  laughing  because  I  walked 
so  fast.  Then — then  I  don't  remember — oh  yes — some- 
thing looked  out  from  the  thicket — the  face  of  a  thief — Tri- 
bert.  I  struck  at  him  with  my  cane — then — then — I  don't 
remember." 

The  pain  was  severe  and  he  had  to  stop  and  wait  until 
the  throbbing  of  his  brain  subsided  a  little. 

"  What  is  his  name,  the  man  vou  saw  in  the  thicket  ?  " 

"  Tribert." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  seen  him  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal. 
There  were  other — other  thieves.  I  heard  them  talking 
when  I  lay  on  the  ground." 

"  Who  were  the  others  ?  " 

"  Georgias,  the  Greek  ;  Andre  Sarre,  student  in  the 
ficole  de  Medecine  ;   and  a  man  they  called  Pagot." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

'  Philip  Landes,  citizen  of  the  United  States,  living  at 
70  Rue  Notre  Dame,  student  of  painting  in  the  £cole  des 
Beaux  Arts."     Pain  forced  him  to  stop  again. 

"  Make  one  more  effort,"  said  the  officer.  "  There  is  no 
danger  ?  " — turning  to  the  surgeon. 

:'  Oh,  no,  he  is  not  badly  injured.  There  is  no  fracture, 
and  the  knife  only  grazed  the  skin  of  his  throat,  but  the  pain 
confuses  him." 

"  Try,  again  then,  Monsieur  Landes.  Try  to  tell  me  all 
you  know  about  the  affair." 

Philip  made  a  desperate  effort  to  concentrate  his  mind, 
and  succeeded.  As  his  mind  grew  clear,  he  realized  that  he 
must  speak  warily,  or  he  should  compromise  Faustine,  and 
he  was  resolved  not  to  do  that  if  it  could  be  avoided.  So 
when  at  last  he  told  his  story  in  a  weak  voice,  with  long 
pauses,  he  left  her  out  of  it  altogethei . 

He  said  in  substance  that  he  could  not  mistake  the  thieves 
for  he  had  met  the  whole  lot  of  them  that  afternoon  in  the 
Cafe  Cardinal,  and  been  insulted  by  them  because  he  was 
an  American.  Their  voices  were  unmistakable.  After  din- 
ner, he  had  wanted  to  call  on  his  old  friend,  the  Count  de 
Brassac,  returned  threedays  ago  to  Paris, — "Monsieur  knew?" 

Oh,  yes,  the  officer  knew  all  about  that. 

Well,  Landes  said,  he  had  found  the  Count's  address  at 
the  telegraph  office  in  the  Palais  du  Senat.     The  Count 


26  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

was  in  the  old  hotel  of  the  family,  Rue  Faublas.  Philip  had 
gone  there  after  dinner  and  had  found  him.  The  Count 
had  shown  him  a  small  bag  of  diamonds  which  he  had  brought 
up  to  Paris  to  place  for  safe  keeping  in  the  Bank  of  France. 
He  was  going  to  keep  an  appointment  to  meet  the  Marquis 
de  Ploeuc  this  evening. 

'  It  seemed  to  me,"  said  Landes,  "  that  he  carried  the 
diamonds  rather  recklessly,  and  when  I  found  that  he  was 
going  to  the  Luxembourg  quite  alone,  I  begged  permission 
to  accompany  him."  Then  he  related  the  rest,  and  at  last 
resolutely  asked  the  question  whose  answer  he  had  been 
dreading  to  hear. 

"  And  the  Count  de  Brassac  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  very  badly  hurt." 

"  He  is  dead  ?  " 

"  He  was  killed  by  a  knife-thrust." 

"That  was  Georgias,"  whispered  Landes,  and  fainted 
away  again. 

They  would  not  let  him  talk  any  more,  and  to  that  end 
kept  him  well  under  the  influence  of  morphine.  He  slept 
heavily  all  the  next  day,  and  only  woke  at  night  long  enough 
to  passively  take  some  soup.  Next  morning  he  awoke  from 
a  dreamless  slumber  and  looked  at  the  white-haired  officer 
who  was  standing  by  watching  him. 

"  Good  !  "  said  that  gentleman.     "  Monsieur  is  better." 

Philip  sat  up.  There  was  plenty  of  lassitude  and  stiffness 
in  his  muscles,  and  his  head  felt  queer,  but  he  answered  : 
"  I  am  quite  well.     I  must  get  up." 

"  When  you  like,  but  first  a  word,  if  you  please." 

The  officer  took  some  papers  from  his  pocket.  "  Those 
are  the  papers  found  upon  you  two  nights  ago.  One  is  a 
letter  notifying  you  of  your  expulsion  from  the  Students' 
League,  on  account  of  your  being  an  American.  It  is  signed 
by  Raoult  Rigault  and  countersigned  by  Andre  Sarre.  And 
this  is  the  telegram  you  wrote  to  the  Count  de  Brassac,  with- 
out sending,  at  the  office  of  the  Palais  du  Senat,  the  same 
night.  The  operator  in  charge  remembers  you  and  cor- 
roborates your  account."  After  a  pause  the  officer  went  on  : 
"The  Count  de  Brassac  died  about  half-past  eleven  on  the 
night  of  the  assault.  He  recovered  consciousness  before  he 
died.  His  daughter  was  summoned  and  was  with  him. 
He  was  able  to  speak  with  her." 


PHILIP    ACTS    AS    ESCORT  27 

'  Poor  little  Jeanne  !  '  Philip  suddenly  saw  the  desolate 
child  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  had  not  spoken, 
but  the  white-haired  officer  said,  kindly  : 

"  You  are  right,  Monsieur  !  " 

"  We  are  anxious  about  the  jewels,"  he  went  on.  "  They 
were  found  in  the  basin  of  the  fountain,  and  should  have 
been  given  at  once  to  the  Marquis  de  Ploeuc,  but  by  some 
mistake  they  were  left  in  the  hands  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Brassac's  maid,  and  are  now  in  the  de  Brassac  apartments 
at  the  Hdtel  Perret." 

"  Oh,  that  is  wrong  !  Some  harm  will  come  to  the  young  lady 
if  the  thieves  know  she  has  those  jewels  in  her  possession  !  " 

'  That  is  what  we  fear,  although  at  present  an  orderly 
is  on  guard  there  subject  to  her  commands  ;  but  when 
you  are  able  to  go  there,  Monsieur,  I  think  you  can  be  of  great 
service  to  her.     The  Count  spoke  to  her  before  he  died." 

The  officer  bowed,  and  Landes  felt  that  he  was  trusted. 

"  Have  the  murderers  been  caught  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  No,  and  it  will  be  a  difficult  matter  to  take  them.  Listen, 
Monsieur  Landes.  They  are  the  soul  and  centre  of  a  wide- 
spread conspiracy.  There  is  more  than  murder  in  it.  We 
have  stumbled  upon  a  plot  whose  ramifications  give  great 
cause  for  anxiety.  The  government  has  been  notified,  the 
police  are  working  secretly,  the  newspapers  have  been  preven- 
ted from  publishing  any  account  of  the  murder.  They  repor- 
ted the  Count's  death  from  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  The 
Count  was  buried  yesterday  at  Montrouge,  privately.  If 
possible,  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  should  leave  Paris  for 
Chartres  to-day." 

"  What  is  to-day  ?  " 

"Thei8th." 

"  Then  I  have  been  ill  two  nights  and  a  day  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

Landes  sprang  up  without  further  ceremony.  When  he 
was  dressed  and  was  shaking  hands  with  the  surgeon,  who 
pronounced  him  all  right,  but  advised  him  to  keep  his  head 
cool  and  avoid  excitement  for  the  present, — "  for,"  said  the 
doctor,  laughing,  "  they  didn't  crack  your  skull,  but  they 
came  very  near  it," — just  at  the  moment  an  orderly  entered 
and  handed  a  note  to  the  white-haired  officer. 

'  What  are  you  doing  away  from  the  Hotel  Perret  ?  " 
asked  that  gentleman  sharply. 


28  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Mademoiselle  insisted,  mon  capitaine." 

The  captain  shrugged   and   turned  abruptly  to   Landes. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  now  entirely  alone  with  her  maid  in  the 
Hotel  Perret.  She  sends  a  note  asking  if  Mr.  Philip  Landes 
will  be  well  enough  to  call  upon  her  before  she  leaves  for 
Chartres.  If  not,  she  says  she'll  come  here  with  her  maid. 
She  wishes  to  thank  you,  Monsieur,  and  to  give  you  a  message 
from  her  father.  She  should  have  found  some  other  messen- 
ger than  the  orderly  who  was  there  to  protect  her.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  time  to  lose,  Monsieur." 

'  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  send  for  a  cab  ?  "  said 
Philip. 

While  he  was  waiting,  stick  and  hat  in  hand,  after  he  had 
made  the  proper  acknowledgments  and  exchanged  very 
cordial  adieux,  the  captain  said  to  him,  dryly  : 

"  Well,  the  troops  left  this  morning  to  retake  the  cannon 
on  Montmartre." 

"  Ah  !  "    exclaimed  Landes,  "  it  was  time." 

"  Yes,  it  was  time,  and  do  you  know  what  convinced 
M.  Thiers  also  that  it  was  time  ?  They  say  it  was  the  revelations 
which  reached  him  in  connection  with  this  murder  of  the 
Count  de  Brassac." 

"  The  conspiracy  of  which  you  spoke  alarms  M.  Thiers  ?  ' 

"  Let  us  hope  so,"  answered  the  captain,  with  a  glance 
at  the  surgeon. 

A  dragoon  entered  and  announced  the  cab.  They  shook 
hands  once  more  cordially.  Philip  hurried  out  and  jumped 
into  the  cab,  crying  :  "  H6tel  Perret,  Place  Pigalle.  Drive 
quickly.'  The  white-haired  captain  watched  him  to  the 
end  of  the  street,  then  turned  back  into  the  guard-room  with 
a  curse. 

"And  you  are — blessing  whom,  mon  capitaine?  "  blandly 
inquired  the  surgeon,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  Louis  XVI.,  of  course,"  growled  the  other. 

The  surgeon  blew  several  smoke  rings  out  of  the  barred 
window,  removed  the  cigarette  from  his  lips,  whistled  a  little, 
and  then,  looking  straight  at  the  captain,  he  deliberately 
sang  the  following  remarkable  couplet : 

"  C'est  Adolphe  Thiers  qu'on  me  nomme, 
Sacr6  nom  d'un  petit  bonhomme." 

This  being  rank  treason,  the  captain  walked  out  of  ear-shot. 


AN    HISTORICAL    INTERLUDE.  20, 


CHAPTER  III 

An  Historical  Interlude 

Paris  had  been  singing  Rochefort's  couplet  now  for  several 
weeks. 

On  the  27th  of  the  month  preceding  this,  in  which  our 
story  begins,  a  proclamation  was  sent  by  the  National 
Assembly  at  Bordeaux  to  the  citizens  of  Paris,  urging  them 
to  accept  quietly  the  hard  terms  of  the  surrender.  The 
German  army  would  enter  Paris,  it  said,  and  occupy  the  zone, 
from  the  bridge  of  Courbevoie,  with  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, and  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  as  the  extreme  limit. 

"  If  the  terms  of  surrender  are  not  respected,"  continued 
the  proclamation,  "  the  truce  will  be  broken.  The  enemy, 
already  master  of  the  forts,  will  seize  by  violence  the  entire 
city.  Your  property,  your  public  works,  your  chefs-d'oeuvre 
of  art  will  no  longer  be  guaranteed  by  the  agreement.  This 
misfortune  will  fall  on  all  France.  The  terrible  ravages 
of  war,  which  have  not  yet  passed  the  Loire,  will  then  reach 
the  Pvrenees.  It  is  therefore  the  exact  truth  that  with  vou 
rests  the  safety  of  France." 

Ernest  Picard  followed  this  with  a  despatch. 

"  The  Germans  offered  to  renounce  entry  into  Paris  if 
Belfort  were  ceded  to  them  for  ever.  We  replied  that  if 
anj'thing  could  console  Paris  in  her  suffering  and  humiliation 
it  would  be  the  thought  that  our  suffering  saved  Belfort  to 
France."  Comforted  by  this,  the  Parisians  quietly  prepared 
to  endure  the  occupation.  The  city  was  ready  to  accept 
the  terms.  The  city  was,  but  the  faubourgs  were  not.  In 
many  of  the  suburbs,  especially  in  revolutionary  Montmartre 
and  Belleville,  the  turbulent  population,  seeing  the  city 
patient,  began  to  call  for  blood.  These  quarters  had  distinct 
ideas  as  to  whose  blood  they  wanted  shed.  During  the  siege, 
when  it  was  necessary  to  repel  invasion  at  the  cost  of  their 
own,  the  battalions  of  Montmartre  and  Belleville  were  not 
distinguished  for  reckless  bravery.  There  was  even  some 
seandal.     They  were  not  mentioned  enthusiastically  in  the 


30  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

orders  from  headquarters,  and  in  some  cases  disciplinary- 
measures  were  employed  ;  and  now,  when  all  good  citizens 
had  reconciled  themselves  to  the  inevitable,  these  battalions 
cocked  their  caps,  polished  up  their  gold  facings,  and  yelled 
for  Prussian  blood.  The  mysterious  Central  Committee 
incited  and  supported  them,  proving  that  the  roots  of  this 
organization  were  imbedded  in  anarchism.  It  gloated  over 
the  prospect  of  what  was  sure  to  follow  on  the  firing  of  the  first 
shot.  The  Prussians  would  throw  themselves  on  the  city 
like  madmen ;  Mont  Valerien  would  pound  the  fashionable 
quarters  to  powder.  What  pickings  !  during  the  sack 
of  the  city  which  would  follow  !  The  first  and  last  article 
of  faith  for  the  Central  Committee  and  those  whom  it 
represented  was  the  ruin  of  the  Bourgeoisie.  Montmartre 
and  Belleville  listened  and  howled  approval. 

Then  for  two  nights  battalions,  hastily  formed,  but 
numbering  in  all  thirty  thousand  men,  massed  themselves 
in  the  Champs  Elysees  as  far  as  the  Avenue  de  la  Grande- 
Armee  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  preventing  the  entry  of 
the  Germans,  but  General  Vinoy,  who  was  commander- 
in-chief  of  the  National  Guard,  as  well  as  of  the  regular  army, 
put  a  stop  to  this  grotesque  fanfaronnade. 

"The  rappel  was  beaten  last  night,"  he  said,  "but  the 
drummers  had  no  orders,  and  they  will  be  court-martialed. 
Some  battalions  took  up  arms  with  treasonable  intent,  but 
the  majority  of  the  Guard  remained  quiet.  They  under- 
stood what  is  the  duty  of  all  good  citizens." 

This  sobered  the  faubourgs,  and  when  the  German  news- 
papers announced  that  if  there  should  be  any  disorder  in 
Paris  during  the  occupation,  the  Prussian  army,  with  King 
William  at  its  head,  would  take  possession  of  the  entire  city, 
and  would  bring  back  Napoleon  III.  to  the  Tuilcrics,  that 
produced  a  still  more  profound  impression  in  the  suburbs. 
Belleville  was  silent,  Montmartre  thoughtful,  and  the  insidious 
Central  Committee  urged  the  discontented  battalions  to  retire 
with  dignity,  but  to  keep  their  arms.  Next  day,  not  a 
National  Guardsman  was  to  be  seen  in  the  Champs  Iilysees. 
Then  the  Central  Committee,  from  its  obscurity,  spread 
broadcast  throughout  Paris  this  printed  circular  : 

"  Where  are  the  cannon  of  the  National  Guard  ?  Soldiers 
of  the  battalions  of  Belleville  and  Montmartre  !  these  cannon 


AN   HISTORICAL    INTERLUDE  3 1 

are  yours.  You  paid  for  them,  your  sisters,  wives,  and 
children  contributed  to  them, — are  they  to  be  surrendered  to 
the  Prussians  ?  " 

It  was  a  thunder-clap  from  a  clear  sky.  Nobody  had 
thought  about  the  cannon.  At  that  time  the  National 
Guard  numbered  150,000  men,  divided  into  250  battalions, 
and  each  battalion  possessed  a  cannon.  In  spite  of  General 
Vinoy's  orders,  this  immense  mass  of  men  felt  their  power 
and  now  they  began  to  clamour. 

"  We  bought  them,  they  are  ours,  they  shall  not  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  Prussians  !  "   the  cry  went  up. 

That  was  the  time  when  Monsieur  Thiers  should  have 
shown  his  teeth.  He  may  have  had  none  ;  he  certainly  did 
not  exhibit  any.  He  temporized.  Jules  Favre  in  the 
preliminaries  of  peace  had  begged  Bismarck  to  allow  the 
National  Guard  to  retain  their  rifles.  Bismarck  grinned  and 
politely  acceded  to  the  request,  thinking,  "  what  an  ass, 
this  M.  Favre."  Now  the  National  Guard  not  only  possessed 
300,000  rifles  with  sabre  bayonets,  but  was  ako  reaching  for 
250  pieces  of  cannon  and  mitrailleuses.  Monsieur  Thiers 
thought  this  amusing.  The  National  Assembly  was  bickering 
over  the  question  of  permitting  the  Orleans  princes  to  return, 
and  paid  no  attention  to  the  cannon.  Col.  Schoelcher, 
commanding  the  artillery,  begged  Thiers  to  interfere.  Thiers 
refused.  The  poor  Colonel  then  attempted  to  stem  the 
rising  tide  himself.  He  offered  to  give  the  battalions  their 
pieces  if,  one  by  one,  each  battalion  would  receive  its  pieces 
from  him  in  the  Jardin  de  l'Archeveche,  but  they  laughed 
in  his  face.  These  250  cannon  and  mitrailleuses  were  assem- 
bled in  ranks  of  fifty  in  the  Cour-la-Reine.  One  day  an 
order  came,  from  whom  perhaps  no  one  but  the  Central 
Committee  knew.  The  cannon  were  seized  by  the  National 
Guard,  who,  with  drums  and  bugles  sounding,  marched  as 
convoy,  while  hundreds  of  horses  dragged  the  guns  up  the 
hill  of  Montmartre.  Thiers  was  very  much  amused,  it 
appeared,  and  the  comic  journals  rang  the  changes  on  the 
joke,  until  one  day  a  staff  officer  went  up  the  hill  of  Mont- 
martre to  see  these  famous  cannon,  and  came  back  with  his 
hair  on  end  and  his  sabre  between  his  legs.  This  startled 
Monsieur  Thiers  who  was  by  nature  timid,  and  when  the  staff 
officer  had  told  his  tale,  the  hair  on  Monsieur  Thiers'  head 


32  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

rose  likewise.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  guns  of  7  and  12 
concentrated  upon  Paris  !  It  was  not,  after  all.  very 
amusing.  The  city  began  to  look  serious.  People  cast 
sidelong  glances  at  this  hill  glittering  with  loaded  guns. 
"  The  Prussians  have  gone,"  they  said  to  each  other,  "  why 
are  the  cannon  still  there  ?  '  Thiers  heard  these  murmurs, 
and — temporized.  The  public  grew  more  and  more  anxious, 
the  Radical  newspapers  began  to  give  Monsieur  Thiers 
advice.  He  listened — and  temporized.  "  Take  away  the 
cannon,"  cried  the  people.  "  Please  give  me  your  cannon," 
mumbled  the  chief  of  the  Executive  Power.  When  refused 
with  taunts  and  jeers  of  "  Come  and  take  them,"  he  turned 
with  a  senile  snarl  on  the  newspapers  and  supDressed  six, 
the  "  Vengeur,"  the  "  Cri  du  Peuple,"  Henri  Rochefort's 
"  Mot  d'Odre,"  "  Pere  Duchene,"  and  two  humble  sheets, 
"  La  Caricature "  and  the  "  Bouche  de  Fer."  This  was 
attacking  the  liberty  of  the  Press,  a  bad  precedent  for  the 
party  of  order  and  toleration  to  establish.  General  d'Aurelle 
de  Paladines,  the  victorious  leader  at  Coulmiers,  and  actual 
general  in  command  of  the  National  Guard,  worked  with 
heart  and  soul  to  restore  discipline.  The  government 
arrived  in  Paris  from  Bordeaux  on  its  way  to  Versailles. 
The  people  begged  that  it  might  stay.  Thiers  refused  and 
ordered  Versailles  to  be  made  ready.  It  would  take  some 
weeks  to  prepare  for  the  reception  of  the  Ministers  there,  so 
meanwhile  the  National  Assembly  remained  in  Paris.  Thiers 
occupied  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs. 

Montmartre  was  guarded  by  500  men  and  250  cannon. 
There  were  no  leaders,  unless  Assi  and  Lullier  could  be  called 
such.  Leaders  were  needed,  and  the  stupidity  of  the  govern- 
ment at  once  furnished  them.  The  "  Third  Court-Martial  " 
had  been  sitting  for  the  last  four  months  in  connection  with 
the  affair  of  the  31st  of  October.  Thiers  refused  to  allow 
them  to  retain,  for  the  present,  their  verdict,  and  Paris 
presently  received  the  news  that  Blanqui,  Flourens,  Levrault, 
and  Cyrille  were  condemned  to  death,  Doctor  Goupil  to  two 
years'  imprisonment,  and  Jules  Vallcs  to  six  months'.  The 
others  were  acquitted.  The  condemned  might  as  well  have 
been  acquitted  also,  as  they  were  all  in  hiding,  and  as  soon 
as  the  news  came  that  judgment  had  been  pronounced  the 
insurgent  National  Guard  welcomed  them  with  ©pen  arms. 


AN    HISTORICAL    INTERLUDE  33 

Thiers  might  have  known  this.  He  may  have  known  it. 
Gustave  Flourcns  came  out  of  his  hole  and  showed  himself 
publicly  in  the  midst  of  the  Belleville  battalions  in  a  fantastic 
costume  of  major-general  and  a  uniform  spangled  with  gold 
braid.  Regere,  Ranvier,  Jaclard,  and  Eudes  followed  his 
example.     Thiers  had  given  the  insurgents  their  officers. 

But  now  the  President  of  the  Council  and  the  Ministers 
had  become  seriously  frightened.  They  sent  officers  of  the 
artillery  from  the  Pepiniere  barracks  to  Montmartre  to  parley. 

"  What  the  h — 1  do  you  want  ?  "   demanded  the  sentinels. 

"  We  want  the  cannon,"  replied  these  innocent  officers. 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  distribute  them,  day  by  day,  to  the  battalions." 

"  Have  you  the  countersign  ?  " 

"  No,  two  lines  from  the  Governor  of  Paris  will  be 
sufficient." 

"  Passez  au  large  !  We  don't  know  any  Governor  but  the 
Central  Committee." 

The  officers  slunk  back  to  Monsieur  Thiers. 

"  This  is  very  embarrassing,"  observed  that  gentleman, 
and  called  a  council  of  war. 

Montmartre  was  evidently  a  hotbed  of  conspiracy.  One 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  National  Guards  and  three  hun- 
dred thousand  women  and  children  owed  allegiance  to  the 
Central  Committee,  which  brooded  like  a  thunder  cloud 
over  the  hill  of  cannon.  Attracted  by  the  disorder,  the  worst 
elements,  the  very  dregs  and  scum  of  Paris,  were  congregating 
on  Montmartre  to  join  the  revolt.  Mobiles,  Franc-Tireurs, 
renegade  Line  soldiers,  all  came  and  clamoured  for  the 
unilorm  of  the  National  Guard  and  the  five  francs  a  day. 
Where  the  money  came  from  was  a  mystery.  Some  spoke 
of  Bismarck,  some  of  an  Englishman  who  scattered  twenty 
thousand  francs  in  French  money  among  the  hordes. 

Rain  fell  in  torrents  and  the  famous  pieces  of  7  and  the 
mitrailleuses  began  to  rust.  To  amuse  the  Guard,  the  Cen- 
tral Committee  ordered  the  red  flag  to  be  hoisted  on  the 
Buttes  Chaumont,  and  down  came  the  tricolour.  Paris 
stared,  Monsieur  Thiers  was  almost  galvanized  into  action. 
Monsieur  Roger,  chief  of  staff,  urged  him  to  attack  with  the 
regular  troops  and  what  remained  of  the  loyal  National 
Guard.     He  said  he  would  and — temporized. 

On  the  morning  of  the  18th  of  March,  1871,  the  people  of 


34  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Paris  read  this  placard  pasted  over  the  dead  walls  of  the 
unhappy  city  : 


TO    THE    PARISIANS. 

For  some  time  past  certain  irresponsible  people,  under 
the  pretext  of  resisting  the  Prussians,  who  are  no  longer 
within  your  walls,  have  constituted  themselves  masters  of 
a  portion  of  the  city  of  Paris.  They  collect  arms,  throw  up 
intrenchments,  mount  guard,  and  force  you  to  aid  them  by 
order  of  a  mythical  Committee  which  pretends  to  govern 
a  section  of  the  National  Guard.  This  is  defiance  to  the 
authority  of  the  legal  government  instituted  through  uni- 
versal suffrage.  These  men,  who  have  already  caused  so 
much  evil,  and  whom  you  yourselves  dispersed  on  the  31st 
of  October,  under  pretence  of  defending  you  against  the 
Prussians,  who  are  no  longer  in  Paris,  have  mounted  and 
aimed  cannon  which,  if  fired,  would  annihilate  your 
houses,  your  children,  and  yourselves.  If  France  once 
believes  that  the  necessary  accompaniment  of  the  Re- 
public is  disorder,  then  the  Republic  will  be  lost. 


Monsieur  Thiers  wrote  well,  but  two  words,  concise  and 
unmistakable,  addressed  to  the  disaffected,  would  have 
answered  the  purpose  better. 

People  read  the  plaxard  and  wondered  what  was  coming 
next.  "  It  is  easy,"  they  grumbled,  "  to  crush  those 
insurgents.  One  regiment  of  the  Line  and  horses  to  drag 
away  the  cannon  would  do  it  ;  manifestos  and  placards 
won't." 

This  was  true.  At  that  late  hour,  it  would  still  have 
been  easy  to  quell  the  insurrection.  The  insurgents  were 
fatigued,  enervated,  confused.  Discipline  was  almost  en- 
tirely wanting.  Strife  had  arisen  in  the  Central  Committee, 
and  Karl  Marx,  the  founder  of  the  International  Society 
of  Working-men,  from  which  the  Central  Committee  took 
orders,  was  opposed  to  the  insurrection.  From  England, 
where  he  had  taken  refuge  after  his  condemnation  to  death 
at  Berlin,  he  launched  thunderbolts  of  invective  against  the 
revolt.  This  puzzled  and  discouraged  the  National  Guard. 
Thiers  believed  that  this  famous  letter  of  Marx  would  end 
the   trouble.     Monsieur  Thiers  nourished  another  illusion. 


AN   HISTORICAL    INTERLUDE  35 

He  imagined  that  at  the  first  drum-roll  the  loyal  party  of 
Paris  would  spring  to  arms.  He  gave  his  orders.  About 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  drums  crashed  out  in  the 
streets  in  every  quarter  of  Paris.  It  was  the  call  to  arms, 
the  rappel.  Not  a  battalion  arose.  At  three  o'clock  the 
alarm  was  repeated.  Paris  slept.  At  five  o'clock,  at  dawn, 
the  third  and  last  appeal  thundered  along  the  streets,  while 
the  bugles  rang  from  every  square.  People  were  astonished 
and  puzzled.  How  were  they  to  know  who  was  beating  the 
alarm  ?  After  their  last  response  to  the  call,  General  Vinoy 
had  threatened  them.  If  they  responded  now,  would  he 
not  carry  out  his  threats  ? 

Thiers,  piessing  his  nose  against  a  window  pane  in  the 
Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs,  saw  his  aides-de-camp  come 
galloping  into  the  courtyard. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  when  they  entered. 

"  Scarcely  two  hundred  National  Guards  have  responded," 
was  their  report. 

"  Gentlemen,"  observed  Monsieur  Thiers,  with  solemn 
conviction,  to  the  members  of  his  Cabinet  who  entered  at 
that  moment,  "  this  affair  really  begins  to  look  serious." 

Then  a  gamin  passed  along  under  the  window  singing  : 

"  C'est  Adolphe  Thiers  qu'on  me  nomme, 
Sacre  nom  d'un  petit  bonhomme." 

A  great  silence  fell  on  the  company.  A  staff  officer 
coughed  gently  behind  his  immaculately  gloved  hand. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  sky  was  one  dazzling 
sheet  of  clustered  stars.  A  soft  wind  blew  over  the  forti- 
fications, bringing  with  it  a  breath  of  awakening  spring. 
The  streets  were  deserted,  the  houses  dark  and  silent. 
Behind  the  Palais  de  1'  Industrie,  a  small  camp-fire  smouldered 
among  the  trees  of  the  Park. 

At  half-past  two,  the  Avenue  Malakoff  and  the  Place 
de  l'fitoile  were  suddenly  filled  with  shadowy  marching 
legions.  At  the  same  hour,  masses  of  silent  men  issued  from 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  swept  up  the  avenue  toward  the 
Champs  FJysees,  and  from  the  Palais  de  1' Industrie  cavalry 
appeared,  followed  by  the  clink  !  clink  !  of  moving  cannon. 
It  was  General  Lecomte's  brigade  under  orders  from  Thiers 
on  their  way  to  capture  the  cannon  on  the  heights  of  Mont' 
martre. 


36  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

S'lently  the  troops  moved  down  the  deserted  avenue, 
lighted  only  by  the  stars,  swung  across  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  through  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and  then  separating 
into  detachments  took  the  small  winding  streets  which  lead 
to  the  hill  of  Montmartre.  The  cavalry  halted  in  the  Place 
Pigalle  before  the  fountain.  The  76th  of  the  Line  occupied 
the  Rue  Houdon  and  the  Rue  l'Abbaye.  A  mitrailleuse  was 
planted  to  sweep  the  Rue  des  Martyrs.  Then  General 
Lecomte  sent  out  a  detachment  of  police  to  seize  the  im- 
portant post  of  the  Moulin  de  la  Galette,  which  guarded  the 
cannon.  The  police  crept  up  in  the  darkness,  until  one  of 
them  stumbled  and  fell  with  his  sabre  and  rifle  clanking  on 
the  pavement. 

"  Qui  vive  ?  "  shouted  the  startled  insurgent  sentry. 

A  shot  answered  him  and  he  fell.  The  post  ran  out  but 
were  seized  and  disarmed.  The  guard  at  No.  6  Rue  des 
Rosiers  were  captured  asleep  at  their  posts,  and  the  troops 
and  police  closed  in  about  the  cannon.  At  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning  General  Lecomte  sent  word  to  General  d'Aurelle 
de  Paladines  that  the  cannon  were  taken,  and  sappers  were 
demolishing  the  intrenchments,  and  he  begged  him  at  once 
to  bring  horses  to  remove  the  cannon  to  the  city  below. 
De  Paladines  came  himself,  and  wanted  to  know  what 
General  Lecomte  meant ;  Thiers  had  given  him  no  orders 
for  horses. 

"  Good  God  1  "  cried  General  Lecomte,  "  has  he  neglected 
to  send  the  horses  ?  " 

D'Aurelle  de  Paladines  shouted  to  his  men  to  move  the 
cannon  by  hand,  and  the  soldiers  at  once  began  to  drag  a 
piece  of  7  through  the  mud  and  down  the  steep,  slippery 
street  to  the  foot  of  the  hill.  A  great  crowd  of  men,  women, 
and  children  had  gathered  to  watch  them,  and  from  every 
house  National  Guards  ran  out,  rifle  in  hand,  crying  :  "  Thiers 
has  betrayed  us  !  A  coup  d'etat  !  Lecomte  is  robbing  us 
of  our  cannon  !  " 

De  Paladines  sent  messenger  after  messenger  in  hot  haste 
to  Thiers,  begging  and  imploring  him  to  send  horses  and 
harness. 

"  It  will  take  my  men  a  day  to  move  seven  or  eight  of  these 
guns  by  hand,"  he  wrote.  "  Our  force  is  small,  and  our  men 
have  not  been  fed.  We  have  no  provisions,  and  every 
second  may  mean  life  or  death." 


AN    HISTORICAL    INTERLUDE  37 

At  eight  o'clock  the  equipages  and  horses  had  not  arrived. 
The  crowd  grew  more  menacing.  The  regular  troops,  tired 
and  hungry,  waited  for  their  food  to  arrive.  General  Vinoy 
came  up,  demanding  the  reason  of  delay,  and  more  messen- 
gers were  despatched  to  Thiers. 

"  Treason  !  Robbery  !  Down  with  Vinoy  !  Down  with 
Paladines  !  Down  with  Thiers  !  Down  with  the  cannon 
thieves  !  "    yelled  the  crowd. 

"  Go  to  h — 1,"  replied  a  small  bugler  of  the  76th,  and  the 
crowd  set  up  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  Sonny,"  cried  a  handsome  J'oung  woman,  in  sabots 
and  a  red  skirt,  "  do  you  want  this  cake  ?  "  and  she  handed 
the  bugler  a  bit  which  the  poor  little  fellow  devoured  eagerly. 

"  Good  for  you  !  "  shouted  the  crowd.  "  Wait  !  You 
are  our  brothers  !  If  you  are  hungry  we  will  get  you 
food  !  " 

In  an  instant  loaves  of  bread  and  bottles  of  wine  were 
brought  to  the  troops  who,  half-starved,  received  them  with 
delight.  In  vain  their  officers  interfered  and  threatened. 
"  We  are  hungry,  the  National  Guard  give  us  food,  why 
should  we  fire  on  them  ?     They  are  our  brothers  !  " 

"  Vive  la  Ligne  !  "   shouted  the  crowd. 

"  Vive  la  Garde  Nationale  !  "  shouted  the  Regulars.  The 
soldiers  of  two  companies  of  the  76th,  recently  recruited  from 
Belleville,  began  to  fraternize  with  the  crowd.  An  officer 
ordered  them  back,  but  they  laughed  in  his  face.  A  throng 
of  women  and  children  pressed  around  the  artillerymen  who 
were  moving  the  cannon  away.  The  artillerymen  resisted, 
laughing,  but  the  crowd  hoisted  them  on  their  shoulders, 
crying  "  hurrah  for  the  artillery  !  "  and  others  dragged  the 
cannon  back  to  the  intrenchments.  A  company  of  foot 
chasseurs  were  ordered  to  fire  on  the  National  Guard.  The 
rifles  fell  to  a  level,  but  women  ran  out  and  covered  their 
husbands  and  brothers  with  their  own  bodies. 

"  Fire  !  "  shouted  the  captain  ;  not  a  shot  responded. 
Other  troops  were  ordered  to  clear  away  the  constantly 
increasing  crowd,  but  they  refused.  Their  officers  threatened 
them  with  sabre  and  revolver,  but  they  stood  doggedly 
inactive. 

'  The  National  Guard  has  fed  us.     We  will  not  fire  on 
women  !  "   they  replied. 

"  Hello    you  !     the    handsome    soldier   with    the    brown 


38  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

moustache  !  "  cried  a  pretty  girl  from  the  crowd.  "  Will 
you  stay  with  us  ?  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  something  to  eat  ?  "  said  the  soldier, 
seriously. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  food  and  drink." 

The  soldier  accepted  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  glass  of  wine. 

'  To  the  health  of  the  Republic,"  he  replied,  and  drained 
the  glass. 

"  Vive  la  Republique  !     Vive  la  Ligne  !  "  cried  the  people. 

The  officers  were  powerless.  Some  threw  down  their 
swords  and  walked  away  weeping  with  rage  and  mortification. 
Some  broke  their  swords  over  their  knees  and  flung  them  into 
the  street.  Suddenly  drums  were  heard  and  the  Federal 
battalions,  colours  flying,  bayonets  shining,  poured  into  the 
street  from  every  side.  General  Lecomte  snouted  to  them 
to  halt,  but  they  pressed  toward  the  regular  troops,  followed 
by  the  crowd.  In  vain  Lecomte  ordered  his  troops  to  charge 
and  clear  the  street.  The  company  which  was  guarding 
the  "  Tower  of  Solferino,"  a  cafe,  raised  their  rifles,  butt 
upwards,  and  refused  to  budge. 

"  Death  to  Vinoy  !  Death  to  Thiers  !  "  howled  the 
rabble  that  had  followed  the  Federal  battalions.  A  crashing 
volley  drowned  their  howls.  The  National  Guards  had 
fired  on  the  Line. 

•  •■■■••••, 

"  Tiens  !  '  said  a  gamin,  pausing  before  the  body  of  a 
soldier  of  the  17th  foot  chasseurs  which  lay  in  a  pool  of  blood 
beside  one  of  the  cannon,  "  here  is  another  of  Monsieur 
Thier's  friends."     Then  he  went  away  whistling  : 

"  C'est  Adolphe  Thiers  qu'on  me  nomme, 
Sacre  nom  d'un  petit  bonhomme." 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  The  Eighteenth  of  March  " 

So  began  the  day  of  the  famous  18th  of  March.  Landes, 
lying  back  in  his  cab,  knew  nothing  of  what  was  passing  on 
Montmartre,  and  kept  urging  the  fat  old  cabby  to  hurry.  The 
request  was  received  with  stolid  indifference.  After  a  while 
the  cabman  jerked  his  head  half-way  round  and,  addressing 


"THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  39 

vacancy,  called  Heaven  to  witness  that  he  was  doing  his 
best.  This  broke  the  ice,  and  Landes  stepped  over  the 
cushions  in  front  and,  without  further  ceremony,  took  a  seat 
beside  the  driver. 

"  It  is  pleasanter  up  here,"  he  observed. 

"  Now,  Monsieur,"  exclaimed  the  cabman,  horrified, 
"  you  know  this  is  against  regulations." 

'  I  don't  deny  it,"   replied  the  young  man,   lighting  a 
cigarette  and  passing  another  to  the  driver. 

"  He  doesn't  deny  it  !  '  cried  the  cabby,  raising  both 
hands  to  Heaven.  He  immediately  lowered  his  hands, 
however,  accepted  the  cigarette,  and  whispered  confiden- 
tially :    "  Monsieur  must  be  a  student  of  the  Quarter?  " 

"  That's  exactly  what  Monsieur  is." 

"  All  wickedness  is  permitted  to  students." 
'  Shut  up,  and  look  out  where  you're  driving,"  said  the 
American,  pleasantly.  They  had  just  escaped  overturning 
a  young  man  who  stopped  in  his  tracks  and  cursed  them 
foully.  It  was  Weser,  but  Landes  did  not  recognize  him  in 
the  uniform  of  a  National  Guard.  The  cabman,  utterly 
unable  to  forgo  such  an  opportunity  for  invective,  drew  rein 
to  reply.  Landes  took  his  reins  away  and  sent  the  whip 
whistling  about  the  horse's  ears. 

"  Pas  de  blague,"  he  said  "  Depechez-vous  !  Allons  ! 
En  route  !  " 

In  vain  the  cabby  shouted  for  assistance,  and  besought 
help  from  a  lounging  Line  soldier.  He  cried  "  Police  !  " 
and  "  Au  secours  !  "  but  the  passers-by  only  laughed. 
They  rattled  over  the  Pont-au-Change  and  passed  the  Louvre, 
where  Landes,  tired  of  his  amusement,  restored  the  driver 
his  reins  and  whip  with  a  threat  for  the  future  if  he  lingered 
by  the  way.  In  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  a  battalion  of  the 
Line  stood  at  ease  before  the  Pavilion  de  Rohan,  but  allowed 
them  to  pass  without  question. 

The  cabman  had  recovered  his  spirits  and  was  chanting 
merrily  as  they  entered  the  Rue  des  Martyrs. 

"  Monsieur  is  a  gay  monsieur,"  he  chuckled,  winking 
pleasantly  at  Landes. 

"  Thank  you,  my  friend,  my  spirits  are  unimpaired." 

'  I  also  am  gay  !  '     carolled  the  cabby.     "  I  love " 

His  voice  was  lost  in  the  ringing  report  of  a  rifle,  and  he 
tumbled  clean  out  of  his  seat  to  the  pavement.     The  horse 
D 


40  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

reared,  trembled,  and  d  h  sd  up  the  street  at  full  speed. 
Landes  seized  the  fall    i  n  h     mouth. 

He  heard  peopl ■•  shouting,  he  ,  -by 

scattering  in  all  directions,   then  there  w  r  shot, 

and  he  saw  Pagot,  in  the  uniform  of  a  National  Gu  1, 
lowering  a  smoking  rifle  from  his  shoulder.  Before  he  had 
time  to  think,  he  was  blocks  away,  the  terrified  horse  galloping 
in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  Blanche.  A  policeman  ran  into 
the  street  and  tried  to  seize  the  horse's  head,  but  was 
struck  and  hurled  out  of  the  way.  Then  they  bore  clown 
upon  a  cordon  of  troops  who  shouted  and  brought  their 
bayonets  to  a  level,  but  the  horse  plunged  through  these 
and,  swerving  into  the  gutter,  crashed  against  a  lamp-post 
and  sank  in  a  quivering  heap.  Landes  kept  right  on  over  the 
horse's  head  and  sat  upseveral  paces  farther  along, frightened, 
astonished,  but  unhurt. 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  '  demanded  an  officer, 
running  up  and  frowning  at  the  American. 

"  Now  you  don't  suppose  I  did  it  for  amusement  ?  ' 
retorted  Philip,  angrily.  He  heard  a  burst  of  laughter  near 
him,  and  turning  saw  a  tall  artillery  officer  sitting  on  his 
horse  and  regarding  him  with  amusement.  The  laughter 
was  infectious,  and  Philip  smiled  and  picked  himself  up. 
He  had  recognized  the  tall  artilleryman  who  had  paid  him  the 
pretty  compliment  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal,  in  the  quarrel  with 
Rigault  and  Sarre. 

"  Monsieur  Landes,  pray  pardon  me.  I  laughed  at  your 
retort,  not  at  you,"  said  the  officer,  gravely. 

"  I  don't  mind,"  cried  Landes,  trying  to  find  some  broken 
bones,  and  not  finding  any  he  walked  over  to  the  horse. 

"  Poor  thing,"  he  said,  "  somebody  must  shoot  it." 

A  soldier  stepped  forward  and  gave  the  wretched  brute  its 
coup-de-grace.  Landes,  finding  that  his  own  injuries  were 
confined  to  the  knees  of  his  trousers,  picked  up  his  cane  and 
hat  and  looked  around. 

The  artillery  officer  had  dismounted  and  now  came  up  to 
him.  "  I  see,  Monsieur,  that  you  are  uninjured.  Permit  me 
to  offer  you  my  felicitations  and  my  services." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Landes.  '  I  don't  exactly 
know  what  to  do.  I  ought  to  go  down  to  the  Rue  Blanche 
and  point  out  the  murderer  of  my  cabman,  but  I  must  go 
to  the  Place  Pigalle." 


"THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  41 

The  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  infantry  cordon  pricked  up 
his  ears. 

"  Murder  ?  '  he  asked.  Then  Landes  told  the  two  officers 
his  story. 

"  I  am  dozed  yet,  it  happened  so  suddenly,"  he  finished, — 
"  and  he  was  in  the  uniform  of  a  National  Guard,  but  I 
know  him,  Tribert." 

"  In  the  uniform  of  a  National  Guard,  you  say  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  with  a  captain's  galons." 

"  Was  there  any  excitement  in  the  street  before  that  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  observed.  People  were  walking  about 
just  as  usual."  After  a  pause  he  added  :  "  I  notice  that 
the  streets  here  are  empty  except  for  the  military." 

"  We  have  just  captured  the  cannon  at  Montmartre  !  " 
said  the  artillery  officer.     "  If  you  are  going  to  the  Place 
Pigalle,  permit  me  to  offer  you  my  escort." 

"  Thank  you,  but  that  will  not  be  necessary." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  will  be,"  smiled  the  officer.  "  You  cannot 
get  into  the  Place  Pigalle  unless  a  staff  officer  goes  with  you." 

"  Then  you  are  very  kind,  and  I  accept  most  gratefully." 

The  lieutenant  of  the  cordon  saluted  them  with  great 
punctiliousness.  "  Mon  capitaine,"  he  said,  "  I  will  send  a 
corporal  and  four  men  to  the  Rue  Blanche.  We  will  get  this 
Tribert  if  he  is  within  our  zone." 

"  My  name  is  Alain  de  Carette,"  said  the  artillery  officer, 
turning  to  Landes.  "  I  know  that  yours  is  Philip  Landes, 
because  you  said  so  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal.  I  simply  require 
your  word  of  honour  that  you  will  report  to  me  as  witness 
against  this  Tribert  when  he  is  caught." 

"  You  have  my  word  of  honour,  mon  capitaine,"  said 
Landes. 

"  It  is  sufficient."  Then  he  threw  his  bridle  to  a  fantassin, 
saying,  "  take  the  horse  to  the  War  Ministry,  I  will  go  on 
foot ; ,;  and  not  heeding  the  polite  protests  of  Landes,  took 
his  arm  and  drew  him  along  the  steeply  ascending  hill.  "  I 
seldom  enjoy  the  luxury  of  walking,"  he  laughed. 

"  You  are  very  good  indeed,"  replied  Landes,  warmly. 

"  I  like  Americans,"  said  the  officer.  "  Here  is  the  Place 
Pigalle." 

A  squadron  of  cavalry  was  massed  before  the  fountain  in 
the  centre  of  the  square,  and  vedettes  stood  at  every  corner. 
The  Boulevard  beyond  was  occupied  by  a  detachment  of 


42  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

gendarmes  on  foot  and  a  few  policemen.  There  appeared  to 
be  no  civilians  in  the  streets.  The  houses  were  silent  and  the 
shutters  closed. 

They  advanced  toward  the  mounted  sentry  nearest  them. 
He  saluted  de  Carette's  uniform,  and  they  passed  across  the 
square  toward  the  fountain  where  a  group  of  officers  had 
dismounted  and  were  examining  a  plan  which  a  young  fellow 
of  the  Rifle  battalion  had  chalked  on  the  pavement.  De 
Carette  saluted  and  Landes  raised  his  hat. 

"  Tiens  !  C'est  Alain  !  "  cried  the  senior  officer  cordially, 
and  the  others  looked  up  with  eager  greetings.  Landes  was 
presented  and  permitted  at  once  to  pass  the  fines. 

"  Monsieur  Landes  wishes  to  visit  the  Hotel  Perret,"  said 
de  Carette. 

'  It  is  empty.  The  last  person  to  leave  was  the  landlord," 
said  one  of  the  officers.  "  There  he  is  now,"  he  continued, 
pointing  to  a  cafe  on  the  corner,  "  that  man  looking  out  of 
the  window." 

"  But  the  guests  ?  ' '  cried  Landes,  alarmed. 
'  Two  of  them  rode  away  just  as  we  came  into  the  square 
this  morning.     Don't  you  remember  ?  "    turning  to  another, 
who  nodded  in  reply  : 

"  The  pretty  girl  and  her  maid  ?  Yes,  I  remember ; 
the  landlord,  Perret,  was  with  them." 

"  Send  a  trooper  for  the  landlord,"  said  de  Carette  ;  "  wait 
a  moment,  Mr.  Landes,  we  will  have  Monsieur  Perret  over 
here." 

But  Philip  could  not  wait,  and  with  his  heart  beating 
anxiously  he  hurried  across  the  street  to  the  cafe.  The 
curtains  were  lowered,  the  cafe  was  almost  empty.  There 
was  only  a  young  man  writing  at  a  desk  and  a  waiter  idling 
aimlessly  about.  When  Philip  entered,  the  young  man  at 
the  desk  glanced  up,  and  immediately  dropped  his  head 
again.  The  light  was  uncertain,  his  motion  was  so  quick 
that  Philip  could  not  be  sure,  and  yet  there  was  something 
familiar  about  his  air. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Perret  here  ?  "   he  asked. 

'  Yes,   Monsieur,"   began   the  waiter, — "  no,   Monsieur," 

he  stammered.     The  man  at  the  desk  had  turned  his  back 

to  Landes  and  was  looking  at  the  waiter.     All  Landes  could 

see  of  him  now  was  the  top  of  a  curly  black  head  over  the  desk. 

"  Monsieur  Perret  must  be  here.     I  saw  him  from  the 


'  THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  43 

square,"  said  Philip.  The  waiter  stole  a  glance  at  the  man 
behind  the  desk,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Berry  ? — oh,  Perret.  I  understood  Monsieur  to  say- 
Berry.  No,  Monsieur  Perret  is  not  here,"  and  picking  up  a 
towel  he  began  to  polish  the.  tops  of  the  tables. 

"  Are  there  any  guests  in  the  Hotel  Perret  ?  "  demanded 
Landes  angrily. 

"  No,"  said  the  waiter  with  alacrity,  seeming  to  feel  him- 
self on  certain  ground,  "  Monsieur  Perret  drove  the  last  two 

away  in  his  carriage "  the  legs  of  the  chair  in  which  the 

man  at  the  desk  was  sitting  scraped  on  the  floor,  and  the 
waiter  stopped  short. 

"  Was  it  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  and  her  maid  who  went 
this  morning  ?  " 

'  Yes — no."  The  waiter  had  stepped  close  to  the  man 
at  the  desk,  and  Landes  heard  a  low  murmur. 

"  No,  it  was  not  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac.  Mademoiselle 
de  Brassac  and  her  maid  left  last  week,"  said  the  waiter,  glibly. 

'  You  he  !  "  said  Landes,  in  a  low  voice,  stepping  toward 
the  man  at  the  desk. 

'  Mais,  Monsieur,"  cried  the  waiter,  eagerly,  "  he  ought 
to  know  ;  he  is  the  son  of  Monsieur  Perret."  At  the  same 
moment,  Philip  sprang  forward. 

'  Imbecile  !  "'  said  the  man  at  the  desk  through  his  teeth, 
and  striking  the  waiter  out  of  the  way,  he  slid  out  of  his 
chair  and  slipped  through  a  door  just  behind,  but  not  so 
quickly  as  to  prevent  Landes,  who  rushed  forward  at  the  same 
moment,  from  getting  a  view  of  his  face.  It  was  Georgias, 
the  Greek.  Philip  tried  the  handle  of  the  door  ;  it  would 
not  open.  Then  he  took  a  small  table  and  used  it  as  a  batter- 
ing ram.  He  dashed  out  the  panels,  one  by  one,  until  the 
frame  fell  inward  and  he  sprang  through  into  a  courtyard 
from  which  there  was  an  opening  on  the  next  street.  Philip 
looked  up  and  down  the  street ;  it  was  quite  empty,  and  he 
ran  back  into  the  cafe.  The  waiter  had  disappeared.  Landes 
searched  the  cafe,  found  it  entirely  deserted,  returned  to  the 
desk  where  Georgias  had  been  writing,  and  noticed  there  an 
unfinished  letter,  beginning,  "  Mon  cher  Raoul."  This  he 
thrust  into  his  pocket  along  with  a  revolver  which  he  found 
in  a  top  drawer,  then  he  began  a  rapid  examination  of  the  cafe 
again.  He  found  a  staircase  at  last,  climbed  it,  and  hurried 
through   several  floors  of  empty   apartments.     The   doors 


44  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

were  all  open,  the  floors  were  bare,  not  a  stick  of  furniture 
was  visible.  He  hurried  back  to  the  cafe,  and  going  to  the 
big  window  pulled  open  the  shutters  and  L  I  across  the 
square.  The  cavalry  had  mounted  and  were  moving,  with 
some  appearance  of  excitement,  toward  the  Boulevard. 

"  Captain  de  Carette  !  "  he  shouted,  but  the  tramping 
of  the  moving  squadron  drowned  his  voice,  and  the  artillery 
officer  did  not  hear.  Philip  bitterly  regretted  the  time  he 
had  lost  in  searching  alone  by  himself.  He  went  out  and 
crossed  to  the  Hotel  Perret.  There  his  furious  bell-calls 
and  raps  were  unanswered.  A  window  faced  the  street 
in  a  recess  just  beside  the  door.  He  took  out  his  revolver, 
broke  the  glass  with  the  butt  of  it,  and  climbed  through. 
The  house  was  perfectly  dark.  He  stumbled  over  chairs 
and  tables  toward  a  faint  ray  of  light  which  filtered  through 
a  closely  curtained  window,  tore  back  the  curtains,  threw 
open  the  window,  and  looked  around.  He  was  in  the  office 
of  a  small,  but  handsome  hotel,  furnished  in  taste,  the  walls 
and  ceiling  panelled  in  solid  oak.  Through  a  glass  door  he 
saw  a  vestibule,  and  the  lower  steps  of  a  staircase.  He 
picked  a  candle  out  of  the  concierge's  letter-safe,  lighted  it, 
and  unhooking  every  key  from  the  key  rack,  opened  the  glass 
door  and  mounted  the  stairs.  On  the  first  landing  he  stopped 
and  selected  two  keys  whose  numbers  corresponded  with  the 
numbers  on  the  doors.  The  keys  fitted,  and  he  entered 
without  trouble.  The  apartments  were  empty.  He  threw 
the  keys  away,  and  mounted  the  steps  of  the  second  floor. 
Here  there  was  but  one  apartment.  He  found  the  key  and 
entered,  but  before  he  had  taken  one  step  into  the  darkened 
room,  the  candle  was  struck  from  his  hand,  and  something 
sprang  by  him.  How  he  managed  to  get  to  the  window  and 
open  it  he  could  not  have  told,  but  at  last  the  sunlight  broke 
into  the  room  and  he  turned  to  face  whatever  awaited  him. 
It  was  a  large  yellow  cat  which  glared  at  him,  with  enormous 
eyes,  from  a  niche  over  the  door.  Her  spine  was  arched, 
her  tail  exaggerated.  The  candle  lay  on  the  floor  below. 
Philip  burst  into  a  nervous  laugh.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice 
in  the  empty  apartment  there  came  a  whine  from  the  bed. 
Philip  went  there  and  saw  a  small  setter  puppy  curled  upon 
the  lace  counterpane,  trembling  and  making  violent  overtures 
of  conciliation.  He  called  the  little  cre.nture,  and  it  came 
slowly  toward  him  with  a  coquetry  which  is  understood  to 


"THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  45 

perfection  by  pupp'es,  and  finally  rolled  over  on  its  back 
under  Landes'  feet,  both  forepaws  raised  beseechingly. 
Plf  lip  bent  and  took  it  in  h;s  arms.  The  cat,  seeing  this, 
relaxed  the  rigidity  of  her  tail,  transformed  her  back  from  an 
arc-de-triomphe  into  its  normal  curves,  and  licked  her  singed 
whiskers.  Landes,  with  the  puppy  in  his  arms,  began  a 
cautious  tour  of  the  apartment.  On  the  bed  he  noticed  a 
valise,  half  packed.  It  contained  an  officer's  undress  jacket 
and  some  underwear.  Beyond  it,  on  the  floor,  lay  a  riding 
crop,  boots,  spurs,  and  a  dress  sword  in  its  case.  He  passed 
into  the  next  room  and  found  that  it  had  been  recently 
occupied,  for  the  gas  was  burning  low  and  toilet  articles  lay 
scattered  over  the  tables.  A  curtain  hung  across  the  door 
at  the  farther  end.  A  sudden  draft  stirred  this  curtain  and 
a  subtle  odour  filled  the  room.  He  recognized  chloroform  ! 
In  an  instant  he  drew  the  curtain  and  threw  open  the  door. 
On  the  floor  lay  a  woman,  tied  and  gagged. 

The  puppy,  when  Landes  dropped  him,  bounded  toward 
the  woman,  but  halted  suddenly  and  began  circling  around 
her,  barking.  Landes  stood,  not  knowing  what  to  do  ;  the 
puppy  retreated  between  his  legs.  The  shades  were  partly 
raised,  but  the  windows  were  closed  and  the  stench  of  chloro- 
form made  him  dizzy.  He  flung  open  the  window,  went  to 
the  woman,  and  unloosened  the  towel  about  her  face.  A 
sponge  fell  from  her  lips  and  the  smell  of  chloroform  became 
almost  unbearable.  Holding  his  breath,  he  cut  the  twine 
that  bound  her  hands  and  feet  and  drew  her  out  on  to  a 
balcony,  which  was  under  the  long  French  window.  Sunlight 
fell  across  her  face  and  gilded  her  brown  hair,  gathered 
neatly  in  a  cap  such  as  is  worn  by  ladies'  maids.  She  was 
dressed  as  if  ready  to  go  out,  for  she  wore  gloves  and  a  thick 
cloth  jacket.  In  one  hand  she  held,  tightly  clenched,  the 
handle  of  a  leticule,  which  had  evidently  been  cut  away 
with  a  knife  ;  the  other  hand  was  open  and  limp  and  the 
deadly  pallor  of  her  face  showed  that  help  had  probably 
come  too  late.  Leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  balcony 
winch  looked  into  the  square,  in  search  of  help,  he  saw  some 
hussars  watering  their  horses  at  the  fountain.  He  shouted 
to  them  ;  they  heard,  mounted,  and  galloped  into  the  street 
directly  under  the  balcony. 

'  Is  there  a  surgeon  there  ?  "   he  called  down. 
No,"  shouted  back  the  lieutenantin  charge, "  what's  up  ?" 


<« 


46  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Get  a  surgeon,  it's  life  or  death." 

"  I  understand  surgery,"  cried  a  sub-officer,  after  a  brief 
consultation  with  his  superior. 

"  Then  get  in  that  broken  window  and  come  up  here 
quick.     Send  for  an  ambulance  and  a  surgeon." 

A  hussar  struck  spurs  into  his  horse  and  rode  away  toward 
the  Boulevard,  and  the  rest  of  the  troop,  after  watching  the 
sub-officer  scramble  in  at  the  window,  went  back  to  the  foun- 
tain and  dismounted.  The  sub-officer  came  springing  up 
the  stairs,  looked  sharply  at  Landes,  saluted  mechanically, 
and  sat  down  on  the  balconv  beside  the  woman. 

"  Chloroform  !     Oh  !" 

Landes  offered  his  help,  but  it  was  declined,  and  he  stepped 
back  into  the  room.  It  was  a  dressing-room.  Beyond,  at 
the  end  of  a  short  hall,  the  door  of  a  bedroom  stood  partly 
open.  He  crossed  and  looked  in,  lighted  a  match  and  held  it 
above  his  head,  then  groped  his  way  to  the  window  and  threw 
it  wide  open.  The  room  was  empty  ;  the  odour  of  chloro- 
form pervaded  everything,  but  the  breeze  from  the  open 
window  soon  drove  that  away.  As  he  turned  back  into  the 
room,  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  the  photograph  of  a  French 
officer,  in  the  uniform  of  the  Hussars  of  the  Guard.  The 
officer  was  the  Count  de  Brassac,  and  beneath,  in  the  quaint, 
precise  writing  of  a  French  school-girl,  he  read,  "  My  darling 
father,  August  ist,  1869." 

For  the  first  time  he  distinctly  recalled  the  face  of  Jeanne 
de  Brassac.  Until  now  he  had  only  remembered  her  vaguely 
as  a  pretty,  graceful  school-girl,  sister  of  his  comrade,  Victor. 
Now,  with  a  shock,  memory  awakened,  and  every  incident 
of  that  Christmas  week  was  recalled.  The  drawing-room 
and  the  warm  firelight,  the  carving  on  the  chairs,  the  boyish 
gestures  of  Victor,  and — Jeanne,  the  violet  eyes,  the  white 
throat,  the  shape  of  her  hand  as  it  lay  on  her  mother's  shoul- 
der. He  recollected  every  detail  of  her  dress  ;  he  recalled 
her  voice  as  she  answered  her  father  and  went  to  the  piano 
to  sing  his  favourite  song  of  "  Carcassonne."  With  great 
effort  he  collected  his  thoughts  and  concentrated  them  on 
the  present.  She  was  gone  and  her  maid  had  been  chloro- 
formed. Why?  The  diamonds  !  It  was  for  the  diamonds 
that  they  had  murdered  her  father.  Had  they  also  mur- 
dered her  ?  He  could  hear  the  officer  in  the  next  room 
working  over  the  inanimate  body  of  the  servant,  who  still 


"THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH'  47 

clutched  in  her  stiffened  hand  the  fragment  of  a  reticule. 
Had  the  diamonds  been  in  that  ?  He  sat  miserably  trying 
to  find  some  clue  to  the  tragedy,  his  head  in  his  hands,  his 
heart  throbbing  painfully ;  but  the  face  of  Jeanne  de  Brassac 
rose  incessantly  before  his  eyes,  and  his  thoughts  would  wan- 
der back  to  the  firelight  and  the  sweet  voice  that  sang  "  I 
never  shall  see  Carcassonne."  He  heard  the  sub-officer 
leave  the  room  and  descend  the  stairs  and  return  almost 
immediately  with  several  others,  who  moved  about  with  a 
banging  of  sabres  and  jingle  of  spurs  on  the  tiled  floor.  The 
puppy  and  the  cat,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  this  quiet  room 
from  the  confusion  in  the  other,  suddenly  began  a  compli- 
cated game  of  romps.  Philip  felt  a  tenderness  for  these 
creatures,  her  pets,  and  he  called  them  both  to  him.  The  cat 
at  first  stood  on  the  defensive,  but  he  soon  had  her  lying 
on  the  bed  asleep.  He  placed  the  puppy  beside  her,  and 
going  to  the  door  looked  into  the  next  room.  The  woman 
was  being  carried  toward  the  stairs  on  a  stretcher.  A  group 
of  hussars  and  officers  stood  looking  on. 

"  Is  she  alive  ?  "    asked  Philip. 

"  At  present,"  replied  a  gendarme,  shortly. 

"  Monsieur,  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  sub-officer,  "  but  you 
must  consider  yourself  my  prisoner." 

"  Prisoner  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  repeated  the  sub-officer. 

Through  the  window  Landes  saw  his  acquaintance  of  the 
morning,  de  Carette,  standing  on  the  balcony,  and  reached 
him  in  two  strides. 

"  What?  "  cried  de  Carette,  "  nonsense,"  and  went  back 
into  the  room  with  his  arm  locked  in  the  American's.  "  I  am 
responsible  for  this  gentleman,  Faure,"  he  said  to  the  sub- 
lieutenant, and  passed  with  Landes  into  the  bedroom. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  look  like  a  corpse  ;  this  chloroform 
is  nasty  stuff." 

"  It  isn't  the  chloroform,"  replied  Philip. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  other  coolly.  "  Do  you  want  to 
confide  in  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  and  told  him  all,  ending  by  showing 
him  the  unfinished  letter  left  by  Georgias  in  the  cafe.  "  It's 
terrible,"  he  cried,  pacing  the  room  in  deep  excitement. 

"  I  fear  there  can  be  but  one  meaning  to  that  letter."  said 
de  Carette, 


48  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Philip  stopped  in  h*s  aimless  walk  and  approached  the  bed. 
The  Frenchman  had  been  absently  stroking  the  cat's  yellow 
fur,  while  he  listened,  the  puppy  jealously  trying  to  crowd 
his  hand  away. 

'And  these?  They  mnst  be  her  pets,  I  suppose,"  said 
Philip.  His  voice  was  unsteady.  The  Frenchman  went  to 
the  door  and  gave  an  order.  Then  he  came  back  and  laid 
a  hand  on  Philip's  shoulder,  saying,  "  we  will  find  Mademoi- 
selle de  Brassac.     They  dare  not  harm  her." 

"They  killed  her  father." 

De  Carette's  steel-blue  eyes  glittered.  "  A  brave  officer, — 
an  old  man  ;    cowards  !  " 

A  trooper  came  in  carrying  a  large  covered  basket.  De 
Carette  gently  lifted  the  cat  and  the  puppy  into  it. 

"  We  will  take  care  of  her  pets  until  we  have  found  her," 
he  said.     "  May  I  send  them  to  your  address,  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Landes,  warmly. 

"  Take  them  carefully,"  ordered  the  Captain.  The 
trooper  saluted.  The  cat  set  up  a  desolate  squall,  the  puppy 
whined  anxiously,  the  trooper  saluted  once  more  with  a 
grave  face  and  marched  out,  the  basket  dangling  from  his 
long  arm,  ear-piercing  sounds  and  a  violent  agitation  of  the 
basket  cover  contrasting  with  his  composure.  Standing  in 
the  balcony  and  looking  over,  they  saw  him  enter  a  cab 
driven  by  a  policeman  and  rattle  away.  A  military  am- 
bulance also  was  slowly  moving  toward  the  hospital. 

"  Will  the  girl  live  ?  "  asked  Landes. 

"  She  is  dead,"  replied  de  Carette. 

"  Then  Heaven  only  knows  how  we  can  find  out  anything 
about  this  accursed  business. — Hark  !     What's  that  ?  ' 

"  It's  the  explosion  of  a  mitrailleuse  !  They  are  fighting 
on  Montmartre  !  "  exclaimed  the  artillery  officer.  At 
the  same  moment  a  bugle  sounded  in  the  square  below, 
the  hussars  mounted  and  trotted  toward  the  Boulevard.  De 
Carette  unslung  his  field-glasses. 

"  Look    there  !     Look   at   the    Line   soldiers   running  !  ' 
said  Philip,  anxiously. 

The  Boulevard  which  formed  the  northern  side  of  the 
square,  was  suddenly  filled  with  red-legged  infantry  in  the 
wildest  disorder.  A  lieutenant  of  hussars  rode  into  their 
midst,  shouting  and  gesticulating,  his  sword  in  one  hand,  his 
revolver  in  the  other. 


••THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  49 

"  Is  it  possible  that  they  are  running  away  ?  "  observed 
De  Carette,  in  disgust. 

At  a  signal  from  the  lieutenant,  the  hussars  formed  in  two 
lines  across  the  Boulevard  ;  the  panic-stricken  fantassins 
darted  between  their  horses  and  began  rallying  behind  the 
cavalry.  Close  on  their  heels  followed  another  demoralized 
mob  of  infantry  in  dark  blue  and  green. 

"  The  Rifles  are  running  too  !  What's  got  into  them  ?  " 
muttered  the  Captain.  "  See  there  !  Look  !  Here  comes 
a  general  and  his  staff  !  It  can't  be  General  Lecomte  ! 
It  can't  be  !     What  in  h — 1  are  they  running  away  for?  " 

The  clear  song  of  the  bugles  floated  up  from  the  Boulevard 
below,  and  through  the  tumult  and  cries,  a  calm,  steady 
voice  rang  out  : 

"  Draw  sabres  !    trot  !    gallop  !    charge  !  !  " 

The  hussars  were  off  like  the  wind,  and  in  a  moment  came 
the  crash  of  the  collision. 

"  They've  struck  the  mob,'  said  Captain  de  Carette, 
briskly,  "Im  going  !     Good-bye,  my  friend." 

"  I'm  going  with  you"  !  said  Landes,  following  him  down 
the  stairs  two  at  a  time. 

"  Vinoy  is  my  chief.  I've  got  to  join  him,  but  if  I  were 
you  I  wouldn't  get  into  that  mob,  Monsieur  Landes,"  said 
the  Captain  as  they  reached  the  street  and  started  across  the 
square. 

"  Oh,  do  you  see  ?  Do  you  see  ?  "  groaned  Philip  ;  "  the 
hussars  have  been  cut  to  pieces  !  Here  comes  what's  left 
of  them  !  " 

There  was  little  left  of  them.  The  remains  of  the  squadron 
came  tearing  back,  horses  foam-covered  and  bloody,  troopers 
in  tatters  and  reeling  in  their  saddles.  They  wheeled  past 
the  fountain  and  bore  down  on  Landes  and  de  Carette.  The 
lieutenant  was  there  with  a  crimson  gash  across  his  face,  and 
one  arm  dangling  helplessly  in  his  sky-blue  jacket.  He 
pulled  up  with  his  uninjured  hand  as  he  came  abreast  of  de 
Carette  and  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Hell  had  just  been  let  loose,"  he  said,  "  and  is  coming 
this  way." 

"  What's  the  trouble,  Jacques  ?  "  asked  the  Captain, 
quietly. 

"  The  Line  troops  have  gone  over  to  the  National  Guard  ! 
d n   them  !     Their  treachery  has  lost   us   the   cannon, 


50  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Just  fix  this  arm,  will  you  ?  "  He  leaned  from  his  saddle, 
and  de  Carette  took  his  handkerchief  and  passed  it  under  the 
shattered  arm. 

"  Then  the  Line  has  betrayed  us  ?  '     he  said  huskily. 
'  Yes,  the  88th.     They  are  fighting  like  devils,  shoulder 
to    shoulder    with    the    canaille  !     We    just    struck    them  ! 
Thanks,  that's  all  right,  until  I  can  get  to  a  surgeon.     You'd 
better  mount  behind  me  and  get  out  of  this." 

"  Where  is  the  general?  " 

"  Running  to  keep  warm.  Look  over  there.  There  they 
come,  the  d d  treacherous  blackguards  !  " 

At  that  instant  the  Boulevard  across  the  square  was  swept 
by  the  mob.  National  Guards,  renegade  Line  soldiers, 
and  the  fine  fleur  of  that  hotbed  of  anarchy,  Montmartre, 
passed  like  a  seething  tempest  through  the  street,  howling, 
shrieking,  rolling  along  in  one  turbulent,  irresistible  torrent. 
The  few  loyal  Line  soldiers  and  the  remnants  of  the  Rifle 
battalion  went  down  beneath  it.  Landes  saw  a  little  group 
of  police  and  foot  gendarmes  stem  the  tide  for  a  second  or 
two,  then  break,  and  run  toward  the  fountain  followed  by  a 
swarm  of  National  Guards. 

"  Miserable  ragamuffins  !  "  cried  the  lieutenant  of  hussars. 
"  I've  a  mind  to  tickle  their  rouflaquettes  again  !  ; 

"  Ride  off,  Jacques  !     Spare  your  men  !     It's  no  use  !  ' 
said  de  Carette,  drawing  his  revolver.     "  Come  !     Give  this 
gentleman  one  stirrup  and  me  the  other.     We've,  got  to  go 
now  or  not  at  all  !     Gallop  !  " 

The  lieutenant  appeared  not  to  hear  him.  His  eyes 
sparkled,  and  he  began  to  curse  softly  to  himself.  Suddenly 
with  a  furious  gesture  he  wheeled  his  horse. 

"  Forward  !  Forward  !  39th  Hussars  !  '  he  shouted  to 
the  broken  fragment  of  his  squadron,  "  trot  !  gallop  ! 
charge  !  '  Away  plunged  the  handful  of  troopers,  charging 
madly  into  the  tumult,  and  Landes  heard  the  lieutenant's 
voice  above  the  terrible  din  :  "  Down  with  the  canaille  ! 
Now,  my  children,  all  together  !    for  France  !  " 

The  shock  checked  the  rush  for  an  instant.  The  sabres 
of  the  little  troop  rose  and  fell  like  flashes  of  lightning  ;  then 
the  masses  closed  in  on  them.  De  Carette  seized  Landes  by 
the  wrist  and  dragged  him  through  the  open  door  of  the 
Hotel  Perret,  into  the  courtyard  and  to  the  street  beyond. 

The  street  was  deserted,  and  they  walked  along  for  some 


"THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  51 

distance  without  speaking.  The  Captain  returned  his 
revolver  to  its  place  and  unaffectedly  wiped  away  the  tears 
which  had  sprung  to  his  eyes. 

;<  Jacques  was  crazy  !  '  he  said  at  last.  "  A  brave  man, 
but  a  bad  soldier.  That  charge  was  criminal  !  We  need 
all  the  loyal  men  we  have  left." 

"  Of  course  he's  dead,"  said  Landes. 

"  And  all  his  troop.     It  was  criminal,  criminal  !  ' 

Coming  again  to  the  outer  Boulevard  they  stopped  short. 
The  sidewalks  were  crowded  with  people  and  with  soldiers 
of  the  National  Guard,  marching  along  in  groups  singing  the 
Marseillaise,  but  no  disorder  was  visible.  Philip  followed 
de  Carette  across  the  street  to  a  long  line  of  wooden  huts  which 
had  been  put  up  as  a  temporary  shelter  for  the  troops 
during  the  siege.  The  Captain  stepped  behind  one  of  them, 
and  turning  to  his  companion  said  : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"I  am  going  with  you,"  answered  Philip,  "that  is,  if  I  may." 

"  Certainly  not,  '  said  de  Carette,  sharply. 

Landes  drew  back. 

'  I  mean,"  said  the  other  quickly,  "  on  account  oi  my 
uniform.     It  is  a  little — only  a  little,  you  know " 

"  Unsafe  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Unsafe  for  you  ?     You  are  in  danger  ?  " 

The  Captain  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Looking  Philip 
pleasantly  in  the  eyes,  he  said  :  "  Come,  please  leave  me 
before  you  get  into  hot  water.  People  are  watching  us, 
don't  you  see  ?  "  Landes  glanced  around  and  saw  that 
several  savage-looking  men  had  crossed  over  and  were  stand- 
ing near  them,  talking  in  whispers  and  casting  sullen  glances 
towards  de  Carette's  uniform. 

"  Good-bye,"  murmured  the  Frenchman, — "  and  don't 
shake  hands.  I  am  going  to  find  Vinoy's  staff  if  I  can." 
He  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  salute  and  started  down  the 
wooden  line  of  huts.  Landes  overtook  him  in  two  strides, 
laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  held  out  the  other. 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for,  Captain  de  Carette  ?  " 

"  For  a  very  rash  young  man,"  rejoined  the  other,  irritably, 
— "  and  a  true  comrade,"  he  added  with  warm  feeling, 
"  whose  head,"  he  continued  with  a  shrug,  "  I  should  not 
like  to  see  broken " 


52  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  What's  this  ;  "  interrupted  Philip. 

They  had  been  v  lie  lower  end  of  the  wooden 

shelter.     A   middle-aged   gentleman   was   s^  g   quietly 

before  one  of  the  huts  there.     A  man  had  approached  him 

and  was  saying  : 

'  I  think,  Monsieur,  that  you  are  General  Clement 
Thomas  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  replied  the  gentleman,  dryly. 

Several  passers-by  hearing  the  name  of  Clement  Thomas 
stopped  and  gazed  curiously  at  him.  A  lieutenant  of  the 
National  Guard  was  among  them,  a  very  young  lieutenant, 
whose  commission  was  evidently  of  recent  date,  for  he  had 
sewed  galons  on  the  sleeves  of  his  overcoat,  and  he  made  an 
unnecessary  racket  with  his  sword. 

"  Ah,"  he  cried  insolently,  "  so  you  are  Clement  Thomas  ?  " 

Already  a  group  of  curious  people  had  formed  around  the 
General. 

"  What  could  have  induced  him  to  come  to  Montmartre  ?  " 
whispered  de  Carette  in  Landes'  ear. 

The  lieutenant  rattled  his  sword  and  looked  fiercely  at 
Thomas.  "  Had  the  General  come  to  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  movement  ?  " 

'  No,  mes  enfants,"  said  Clement  Thomas,  looking  around 
on  the  group  eyeing  him,  "  I  am  getting  old.  I  have  sent 
in  my  resignation." 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  cried  the  lieutenant, 
in  a  menacing  tone. 

"  A  spy,"  muttered  the  people,  edging  nearer.  A  soldier 
of  the  National  Guard,  grey-headed  and  sun-burnt,  his  rifle 
en  bandouliere,  came  up  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  We  are  looking  at  Clement  Thomas,"  said  a  bystander, 
with  careless  impudence. 

"  Clement  Thomas  here  ?  " 

"  Le  voila,"  said  the  man,  jerking  his  thumb  toward  the 
group  where  Thomas  stood,  quiet  and  self-possessed,  but  a 
little  pale.     The  Federal  drew  himself  up. 

"  Then  we  must  shoot  him  !  "   he  said  with  quiet  ferocity. 

General  Thomas  heard  and  turned  white.  The  Federal's 
eyes  met  his.  More  people  ran  up.  The  name  of  Clement 
Thomas  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  Remember  1848  !  '  cried  an  old  man,  shaking  his  fist 
at  the  General. 


"  THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  53 

"  So  there  you  are,  assassin  of  the  people  !  "  growled  the 
menacing  \ 

"General  Thomas,  do  you  remember  the  Faubourg  St.- 
Antoine  ?  '  called  a  renegade  marine.  The  clamour 
increased. 

"Did  you  shoot  enough  people  in  the  Rue  Marguerite, 
General  Thomas  ?  "   some  one  bawled. 

An  old  man  pushed  into  the  circle  and  faced  the  General. 

"  Canaille  !  You  sat  on  your  horse  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Avoie  and  laughed  as  you  cried  :  '  String  me  all  those 
ragamuffins  together  on  a  bayonet  !  '      Cursed  butcher  !  " 

"  Remember  Montretout  !  "  howled  a  wretched-looking 
Mobile,  and  lunged  at  Clement  Thomas  with  his  bayonet. 
De  Carette  was  too  quick  for  him.  With  a  stroke  of  his 
sabre  he  severed  the  Mobile's  hand  at  the  wrist.  The  man 
dropped  in  a  dead  faint,  but  the  crowd  fell  upon  de  Carette. 

Landes  struck  two  or  three  of  them  in  the  face,  and  then 
they  turned  on  him  too. 

"  Death  !     Death  !     Down  with  the  spies  !  "  they  yelled. 

Clement  Thomas,  de  Carette,  and  Landes  were  now  crushed 
together  in  the  centre  of  a  throng,  which  pressed  so  closely 
upon  them  that  the  bayonet  thrusts  and  sword  cuts  delivered 
at  them  passed  over  their  heads  and  the  mob  wounded  each 
other. 

:'  Assez,  nom  de  Dieu  !  "  shouted  an  officer  of  the  National 
Guard,  warding  off  the  bayonets  with  difficulty. 

"  Arrest  them  !  Arrest  them  !  "  cried  the  Federals. 
"  We  can  shoot  them  later." 

"  Death  to  them  !  "  thundered  the  mob. 

A  man  galloped  up  on  a  strong  grey  horse  and  pushed  his 
way  right  into  the  middle  of  the  crowd.  It  was  Dardelles, 
commandant  of  the  Cavaliers  of  the  Republic,  an  insurgent 
company  of  ill-repute.  He  laid  about  him  with  the  flat  of 
his  sabre,  and  forcing  a  path  to  General  Thomas,  seized  him 
by  the  collar. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "   he  cried. 

The  old  man  stammered  something  unintelligible,  but  his 
voice  was  lost  in  the  roar  from  the  crowd  : 

"  Clement  Thomas  !     Clement  Thomas  !  " 

"  Then  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of  the  Republic  !  '  cried 
Dardelles,  and,  clearing  a  way  for  himself  at  the  point  of  his 
terrible  sabre,  marched  into  the  street  with  his  prisoner. 


54  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Six  Federals  followed,  dragging  Landes,  and  six  more  escorted 
de  Carette,  who  walked  with  head  erect  and  uniform  in  tatters. 

"  If  anyone  attempts  to  kill  the  prisoners  before  they  are 
judged,  I'll  pass  my  sword  through  his  body,"  snarled 
Dardelles.  A  thousand  voices  replied  in  one  mighty  shout  : 
"  Death  !  "  An  insurgent,  one  Captain  Ras,  placed  himself 
beside  Dardelles  with  drawn  revolver. 

"  We  are  not  butchers,"  he  said  to  the  mob,  "  let  them  be 
judged  by  a  tribunal." 

"  You  dare  not  use  your  pistol,"  sneered  a  franc- tireur,  and 
aimed  a  blow  at  Landes  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle. 

Captain  Ras  seized  the  uplifted  gun  with  one  hand. 

"  You  ass  !  "  he  said,  and  blew  out  his  brains. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  de  Carette  to  Ras,  but  was  sternly 
bidden  to  hold  his  tongue  and  move  faster. 

Notwithstanding  this  swift  example,  blows  were  constantly 
aimed  at  the  prisoners  from  the  savage  mob  surrounding  them. 

Dardelles  slashed  a  man  over  the  mouth  with  his  sword  and 
laughed  at  his  awful  cry. 

"  Now  you  have  a  beautiful  mouth.  Grin,  my  friend," 
he  sneered.  At  the  same  moment,  Clement  Thomas  received 
a  bayonet  thrust  in  the  forearm,  and  Captain  Ras  struck 
the  would-be  murderer  a  blow  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword  which 
tore  one  eye  from  its  socket  and  crushed  in  his  face  like  an 
egg-shell. 

"  Will  you  learn  that  I  keep  my  word  ?  "  he  cried  to  the 
mob,  which  answered  with  a  bellow. 

At  that  instant  a  battalion  of  the  National  Guard  arrived 
and  surrounded  the  prisoners  with  a  hedge  of  bayonets. 
Landes  and  de  Carette  now  marched  side  by  side,  and  could 
exchange  a  word  or  two  without  being  threatened  by  their 
guards. 

"  Where  are  they  taking  us  ?  "  murmured  Philip,  wiping 
the  bloody  foam  from  his  lips. 

"  My  poor  friend,  to  the  Central  Committee.  It  is  sitting 
in  the  Chateau  Rouge,  Rue  Clignancourt,  they  say." 

At  the  intersection  of  the  Boulevard  Magenta  and  the  old 
exterior  Boulevard,  the  crowd  was  greatly  increased  and  the 
air  was  filled  with  the  cry  of  "  Death  !   Death  !  " 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Chateau  Rouge,  the  prisoners 
were  thrust  into  a  room  filled  with  National  Guards.  They 
were    not    allowed  to  converse  together,  and  the  Federals 


"  THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH  '  55 

passed  the  time  in  heaping  insults  on  Clement  Thomas,  who 
sat  as  if  stunned,  his  head  drooping  on  his  breast.  An  old 
captain,  wearing  the  medal  of  July,  turned  his  attention  to 
Landes,  and  assured  him  with  unction  that  he  had  assisted 
at  every  revolution  for  forty  years,  and  that  Philip's  affair 
would  soon  be  regulated  in  front  of  a  dead  wall. 

It  was  a  little  after  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  sun- 
light flooded  the  shabby  room.  A  pigeon  flew  down  from  an 
opposite  roof  and  strutted  cooing  to  and  fro  along  the  window 
ledge  outside,  until  a  soldier  tried  to  catch  it  by  the  legs  and 
it  flew  away. 

For  an  hour  they  sat  there,  a  butt  for  the  soldiers,  who 
proudly  proclaimed  that  they  were  a  Belleville  battalion. 
De  Carette  raised  his  eyebrows  ironically  at  this,  and  nearly 
paid  for  it  with  his  life,  for  a  soldier  fired  at  him  point-blank. 
Then  a  quarrel  arose  among  the  soldiers  as  to  what  should  be 
done  with  the  prisoners.  The  Central  Committee  was  not, 
after  all,  it  appeared,  during  this  altercation,  in  the  Chateau 
Rouge.  Some  wanted  to  push  the  prisoners  into  the  garden, 
and  get  the  thing  over.  Others  insisted  upon  their  being 
led  upstairs  to  wait  for  the  Central  Committee.  At  last, 
after  a  bitter  wrangle,  the  three  prisoners  were  seized  and 
dragged  upstairs  to  the  first  floor.  There  they  were  received 
by  a  captain  of  the  79th  battalion,  who  invited  them  to 
enter,  very  courteously,  and  immediately  slammed  the  door 
in  the  faces  of  their  Belleville  captors,  to  the  latter's  unfeigned 
astonishment. 

General  Thomas  dropped  into  a  seat,  bewildered  and 
exhausted,  and  apparently  did  not  hear  the  kindly  questions 
which  the  captain  of  the  79th  addressed  to  him,  but  de 
Carette  replied  with  equal  courtesy  and  the  two  officers 
exchanged  names.  The  captain  of  the  79th  was  one  Mayer, 
a  journalist.  He  told  Landes  that  he  had  a  son,  a  prisoner  in 
Germany.  He  also  said  that  General  Lecomte  had  been 
taken  prisoner,  and  was  under  guard  in  the  next  room. 

"  I  have  served  on  his  staff,"  said  de  Carette,  sadly. 
"  Will  they  shoot  him  ?  " 

"  I  trust  they  will  shoot  no  one,"  said  the  Federal  officer, 
earnestly  ;  but  de  Carette  smiled  and  walked  to  a  window 
opening  on  the  garden. 

"  That  wall  is  too  convenient,"  he  said,  with  a  dry  laugh. 

As  he  spoke  the  door  opened  and  an  officer  entered,  guarded 
£ 


56  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

by  two  soldiers  of  the  National  Guard.  It  was  Captain 
Frank,  of  the  18th  Chasseurs-a-pied  de  marche,  who  so 
valiantly  defended  General  Lecomte  when  the  crowd  fell 
upon  him.  He  bowed  gaily  to  de  Carette,  but  was  led  to  a 
further  room  and  locked  in.  And  now  other  prisoners  began 
to  arrive  :  Monsieur  de  Pousarges  of  the  18th  Foot  Chasseurs, 
an  officer  of  the  89th  de  marche,  two  captains  of  the  115th 
of  the  Line  who  had  been  abandoned  by  their  men  in  the  Gare 
du  Nord,  and  a  captain  of  the  84th  in  mufti,  who  had  just 
returned  from  captivity  in  Germany,  and  had  been  arrested 
as  he  got  out  of  the  train  that  morning  on  the  ridiculous 
charge  of  being  a  spy. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  still  the  mys- 
terious Central  Committee  had  not  appeared.  De  Carette 
finked  his  arm  in  Philip's,  and  walked  to  the  window  for  the 
hundredth  time. 

"  Hallo,"  he  said,  glancing  into  the  garden,  "  this  looks 
ominous." 

A  file  of  National  Guards  were  fixing  their  bayonets  to 
the  barrels  of  their  rifles  and  forming  along  the  garden  path. 

"  Looks  as  if  we  were  going  to  take  another  journey, 
doesn't  it  ?  "  he  said. 

Landes  stared  at  the  soldiers  without  replying. 

"  Courage,"  whispered  de  Carette. 

"  I  could  stand  it,  I  think,"  said  Philip,  "  to  die  decently, 
but  I  am  afraid  of  the  mob.  If  we  are  to  be  led  through 
the  streets  again,  I'd  rather  end  now,  down  there  in  the  gar- 
den. My  God  !  I  can't  go  through  the  mob  again,"  he 
murmured,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Courage,  my  dear  comrade,"  said  Alain.  His  voice  was 
affectionately  caressing. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Captain  Mayer,  "  an  escort  is  waiting 
to  take  you  to  the  Central  Committee.  Word  has  been 
received  that  they  expect  you  at  the  Buttes-Montmartre. 
Have  the  goodness  to  descend  to  the  garden." 

De  Carette  passed  his  arm  through  Philip's  again  and  felt 
it  shaking. 

"  I  won't  shame  you,"  said  Landes,  as  they  went  down  the 
stairs,  "  only  I  can't  help  feeling  sick.  This  sort  of  thing  is 
new  to  mc,"  he  added,  trying  to  laugh. 

"  You  would  never  have  known  it  if  you  had  been  less 
faithful  to  me,  comrade,"  said  Alain. 


"  THE    EIGHTEENTH    OF    MARCH"  57 

When  they  entered  the  garden,  they  saw  General  Lecomte 
for  the  first  time.  He  stood  alone,  heavily  guarded.  The 
prisoners  all  saluted  him,  even  the  Federal  officers  bowed  to 
the  brave  old  General,  who  punctiliously  returned  each  salute, 
but  the  National  Guard  cursed  him  and  the  prisoners,  and 
promised  them  the  fate  of  General  Brea  and  his  aide-de-camp. 

And  now  began  the  terrible  journey  through  Montmartre. 
A  heavy  mist  hung  over  the  hill,  hiding  its  summit,  and 
through  it  the  drums  and  bugles  of  the  escort  sounded  dull 
and  spiritiess.  Cries  and  groans  surrounded  them  from  the 
furious  mob.  "  Death  !  Death  !  "  they  screamed,  and  blows 
began  to  fall  among  the  prisoners.  An  officer  in  front  of 
Landes  sank  to  the  pavement  with  his  skull  split  open. 
Another,  a  mere  boy,  was  pinned  to  the  ground  by  a  bayonet 
thrust  in  the  back,  and  his  cries  were  heartrending,  until  an 
old  hag  beat  his  brains  out  with  her  wooden  shoe.  The  mob 
had  tasted  blood  and  raged  howling  for  more.  The  officers 
defended  their  prisoners  with  the  strength  of  despair,  but 
another  victim  was  added  to  the  list  before  the  cortege  reached 
the  sloping  streets  of  the  Buttes-Montmartre.  Here  herds  of 
maddened  women  cursed  them  from  the  windows  and  shook 
brawny  fists  in  their  faces.  In  the  midst  of  an  infernal  din, 
the  escort  halted  before  a  small  two-storey  house  on  the 
summit  of  the  hill  in  the  Rue  des  Rosiers.  The  prisoners 
were  pushed  into  the  courtyard,  and  afterwards  into  a 
room  on  the  ground  floor.  The  crowd  attempted  to  follow, 
but  the  courtyard  was  small,  and  the  mob  numbered 
thousands.  A  shot  was  fired  at  the  prisoners  as  they 
entered,  but  nobody  was  touched. 

General  Lecomte  demanded  to  be  led  before  the  Committee. 
The  Federal  officers  replied  that  the  Committee  had  not  yet 
arrived,  but  was  expected  every  moment. 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry  !  "  grinned  a  franc-tireur,  with 
a  hideous  grimace.     "  There  is  plenty  of  time  to  die." 

"  Sale  cochon  !  "  yelled  a  deserter  from  the  Line,  trying  to 
reach  Clement  Thomas  with  his  bayonet,  "  you  gave  me 
ninety  days'  police  cell ; — I  give  you  eternity  !  " 

The  officers  defended  their  prisoners  with  unmistakable 
devotion,  but  they  were  few  against  many.  Someone  in  a  red 
shirt  climbed  on  to  the  wall  and  addressed  the  mob.  He 
begged  them  to  nominate  a  court-martial  or  else  to  wait  for 
the  Central  Committee.     He  told  them  that  they  were  about 


58  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

to  commit  a  cowardly  crime,  and  disgrace  the  young  Republic 
for  which  they  were  shouting  so  loudly.     In  vain. 

"  Tu  paries  d'or,  mais  il  nous  faut  du  sang,"  said  a  deserter 
of  the  Line,  with  a  brutal  laugh. 

"  Beware  !  '     shouted  the  orator,   "  the  soldiers   of  the 
Republic  should  have  clean  hands.     This  is  butcher's  work  !' 

"  Et  ta  sceur  !  Est-ce  qu'elle  est  propre  ?  "  bellowed  a 
butcher  from  La  Villette.  "  You  are  right,  my  friend, 
this  is  butchers'  work.  Death  to  the  bourgeoisie  !  ' 
and  he  struck  the  man  a  blow  with  his  fist  which 
knocked  him  into  the  garden.  That  was  the  signal. 
Howling  like  wolves,  the  mob  attacked  the  windows  on 
the  first  floor,  breaking  in  the  sashes  with  their  rifle  butts, 
and  thrusting  their  bayonets  into  the  room.  The  prisoners 
stood  crowded  close  together,  with  white  faces,  but 
not  a  man  flinched.  Alain  de  Carette  supported  Clement 
Thomas  with  one  arm,  and  warded  off  blows  with  the  other. 
General  Lecomte  stood  quiet  and  stern,  with  folded  arms, 
beside  Landes,  hardly  deigning  to  avoid  the  bayonet  thrusts 
which  fell  short  of  his  breast.  Then  by  the  garden  gate  the 
mob  broke  in  with  dreadful  cries,  and  a  shocking  scene  began. 
De  Carette  received  at  once  a  blow  which  sent  him  reeling  to 
the  floor,  the  mob  fell  upon  Clement  Thomas,  and  the  dull 
sound  of  blows  succeeded  the  clank  of  bayonets.  At  last 
they  got  him  to  the  garden  and  pushed  him  against  the  wall. 
Twelve  rifle  shots  rang  out,  not  in  a  volley,  but  one  after  an- 
other, and  after  the  twelfth  shot,  as  the  old  man  still  breathed, 
a  corporal  of  the  Belleville  battalion  stepped  forward,  and, 
shoving  his  revolver  into  the  dying  man's  ear,  scattered  his 
brains  over  the  grass.  And  now  the  mob,  drunk  with 
blood,  returned  and  fell  upon  General  Lecomte.  Twenty 
times  the  other  prisoners,  with  generous  devotion,  tore  him 
away  from  the  bloody  hands  that  snatched  at  him.  Landes 
fought  desperately,  but  at  last  a  blow  in  the  chest  felled  him, 
and,  unable  to  rise,  he  dragged  himself  from  under  the 
trampling  feet  into  a  corner.  There,  leaning  back,  faint  with 
pain,  he  saw  General  Lecomte  seized  and  dragged  into  the 
garden,  and  heard  how  he  was  shot  to  pieces  against  the 
wall. 

"  Good-bye,  Philip  !  "    cried  Alain  de  Carette,  staggering 
to  his  feet  ;   "  they  are  coming  back  for  us." 
"  I  can't  die  yet,"  stammered  Philip  ;    "  I  won't  die  !  " 


A    COWARDLY    FLIGHT  59 

and  he  made  a  desperate  effort  to  rise.  Suddenly  a  furious 
crash  of  drums  filled  the  street  outside,  and  a  stream  of 
National  Guards  poured  into  the  court  filling  the  garden, 
forcing  the  peloton  of  execution  into  the  street. 

"  Give  us  the  prisoners  !  "   yelled  the  crowd. 

"  Fix  bayonets  !     Clear  the  yard  !  " 

The  scene  was  so  hideous  that  Philip,  who  had  struggled 
to  the  window  and  was  looking  out,  felt  he  was  losing  his 
senses,  but  de  Carette's  hand  tightened  on  his. 

"  We  have  a  chance"  he  said.  "  These  are  troops  from 
Sceaux." 

Inch  by  inch  the  Sceaux  battalion  cleared  the  yard,  and 
then  the  street  immediately  in  front. 

'  You  see  the  consequences,"  said  the  Colonel,  shaking 
his  revolver,  and  forcing  his  horse  into  the  mob,  "  of  trifling 
with  me  and  my  troops."  He  leaned  over,  seized  a  burly 
ruffian  by  the  collar,  and  swinging  him  off  his  feet,  deliberately 
broke  his  neck  over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  The  mob  had 
already  begun  to  sober  a  little,  to  realize  what  it  had  done, 
and  to  fear  consequences.  More  than  one  brute,  red-handed 
from  his  share  of  slaughter  in  the  garden,  had  slunk  away, 
and  was  skulking  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  still  held 
there  by  the  fascination  of  his  crime  ;  but  at  this  merciless 
exhibition  of  physical  strength  they  hesitated  no  longer,  and 
in  half  an  hour  the  Sceaux  battalion,  drums  and  bugles 
sounding,  prisoners  in  their  midst,  marched  unmolested  out 
of  the  Rue  des  Rosiers,  and  shortly  afterwards  entered  the 
Chateau  Rouge  without  striking  a  blow. 

So  began  the  famous  18th  of  March,  187 1.  The  Central 
Committee  had  made  its  bow,  the  curtain  was  rising  on  a 
drama  called  the  "  Commune,"  with  all  Paris  for  a  stage  and 
Monsieur  Thiers  as  prompter. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  Cowardly  Flight 

When  the  convoy  of  prisoners  arrived  in  the  Rue  Clignan- 
court,  the  bells  of  Montmartre  were  sounding  five  o'clock. 
A  wet  fog  had  settled  over  the  city,  the  streets  grew  slippery 
with  greasy  mud.     The  prisoners  marched  into  the  courtyard, 


60  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

and  an  officer  with  note-book  in  hand  walked  along  the  line, 
taking  names  and  addresses.  When  he  came  to  Alain  de 
Carette,  he  stopped  in  confusion. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Alain,  sarcastically  ;  "  shall  I  give 
you  my  name  ?  " 

"  Good  evening,  Monsieur  de  Carette,"  said  the  other,  in 
a  low  voice  ;  "  it  is  not  necessary,  thank  you."  He  passed 
on  to  the  next  prisoner,  who  was  Landes,  hesitated,  and 
turned  back  to  Alain.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
Monsieur?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  the  ground. 

"  You  are  not  in  a  position  to  confer  favours,"  replied 
Alain,  contemptuously. 

"  I  am  chef  de  bataillon,"  said  the  man,  misunderstanding 
him. 

"  And  my  former  valet,"  replied  de  Carette. 

"  I  do  not  forget  that  you  were  very  kind  to  me,"  said  the 
man,  doggedly  ;  "  I'll  do  what  I  can  for  you,  and  for  your 
friend."  He  took  Philip's  name  and  passed  on  along  the 
line.  Then  the  prisoners  were  conducted  to  the  second  floor 
of  the  Chateau  Rouge.  Almost  immediately  an  officer 
entered,  calling  for  Captain  de  Carette  and  "  le  nomme  " 
Philip  Landes.  When  they  stepped  forward,  he  led  them 
down  the  stairs  again  and  into  a  narrow  passage,  at  the  end 
of  which  a  man  sat  behind  a  table,  writing.  It  was  Jaclard, 
chef  de  bataillon  of  the  National  Guard. 

"  Are  you  the  two  prisoners  ?  "    he  inquired,  nervously. 

They  gave  their  names,  and  he  nodded  and  began  to 
question  them  awkwardly.  Landes  and  de  Carette  answered 
with  hope  in  their  hearts  again. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Jaclard,  fumbling  in  an  embar- 
rassed manner  with  his  pens  and  paper,  "  you  are  at  liberty 
to  go.     The  Central  Committee  won't  come  to-night." 

"  Are  we  free  ?  "   stammered  Philip. 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  others  ?       demanded  Alain. 

"  They  will  have  to  wait  here  to-night.  The  Central 
Committee  will  judge  them  to-morrow  ;  I  have  no  time  to 
bother  with  them  to-night,"  he  snapped  pettishly,  and 
walked  out,  slamming  the  door.  The  two  friends  gazed  at 
each  other.  Was  this  true  ?  Were  they  free,  or  was  it  a 
trap  to  shoot  them  down  as  they  entered  the  court  ?  Philip 
and  Alain  thought  of  this  at  the  same  moment, 


A    COWARDLY    FLIGHT  6l 

"  I'll  go  first,"  said  the  latter. 

"  No,  I  will,"  insisted  Philip,  but  de  Carette  pushed  through 
the  door  before  him  and  sprang  into  the  yard.  It  was  silent 
and  empty.  "  Come,  Philip  !  '  he  whispered,  and  together 
they  passed  the  gate  and  went  into  the  street. 

"  If  we're  recognized  now  we're  done  for,"  muttered  de 
Carette.  "  My  uniform  will  probably  do  the  business  for  me, 
anyway  ;  you  must  leave  me  now." 

"  I  won't  go,"  replied  Philip,  angrily. 

"  All  right,  we'll  pull  through  together, — is  that  a  cab  ?  " 

"  It  has  no  number  ;  I'll  ask,"  said  Landes,  and  ran  across 
the  street  while  de  Carette  drew  back  into  the  shadow.  The 
driver  was  not  in  sight.  Philip  looked  about,  and  then 
quietly  stepped  into  the  driver's  place  and  beckoned  to  Alain. 
"  Jump  inside,  quick,"  he  whispered,  as  the  latter  came  up. 
Alain  did  so,  and  leaned  back  out  of  sight.  Philip  gathered 
up  the  reins,  and  the  horse  moved  off  at  once.  Unquestioned 
they  passed  a  strong  post  of  National  Guards  on  the  exterior 
Boulevard  and  turned  into  the  city  at  a  smart  trot.  On  they 
rattled  past  more  National  Guards  and  a  small  park  of 
cannon,  through  noisy  streets  filled  with  excited  people, 
but  nobody  interfered  with  them,  and  at  last  they  reached 
the  Grand  Boulevard  in  safety.  That  part  of  the  city  was 
perfectly  tranquil.  People  sat  smoking  in  front  of  all  the 
cafes,  precisely  as  if  they  knew  nothing  about  the  bloody 
tragedy  of  the  Rue  des  Rosiers.  In  front  of  Tortoni's,  gay 
groups  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  sipped  their  cordials,  and  street 
fakirs  thronged  the  sidewalks  and  pressed  their  wares  as  usual. 
All  the  theatres  were  open  and  blazing  with  gas,  vehicles 
crowded  along  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  and  the  terraces 
of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix  were  packed. 

"  It  seems  incredible,"  said  Philip,  looking  down  at  de 
Carette,  who  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  motioned 
him  to  stop  ;  "  it  seems  incredible  !  I  don't  believe  the  city 
knows  anything  about  Montmartre." 

"  Evidently  not,"  said  Alain,  cynically. 

"  Where  shall  I  drive,  Monsieur  ?  "  asked  Landes,  smiling. 

"  Drive  to  the  War  Ministry.  I  must  report  there  at  once." 
Landes  drove  on  through  the  crowd  of  omnibuses  and  cabs. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  drew  up  before  the  Ministry  of  War  in 
the  Rue  St.  Dominique.  They  left  the  cab  standing  before  the 
porte-cochere  of  the  War  Ministry,  and  Philip  followed  de 


62  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Carette  into  the  court  and  up  the  stairs  to  the  second  landing. 
Here  a  sentinel  halted  them,  took  de  Carette's  name,  and  sent 
a  servant  away  to  find  a  staff-officer.  Presently  they  were 
ushered  into  a  long  apartment  where  three  officers  sat  with 
their  heads  together  over  a  small  table  by  a  window.  The  three 
officers  were  old  General  Le  F16,  Marshal  MacMahon,  and 
General  Borel. 

"  Well,"  said  General  Le  Flo,  smiling  pleasantly  at 
Alain,  "  you  look  like  one  of  my  youngsters." 

'  I  have  served  on  your  staff,  mon  General,"  replied  Alain, 
saluting.     "  At  present  I  am  with  General  Vinoy." 

"  Where  is  General  Vinoy  ?  "  inquired  Marshal  MacMahon, 
who  had  only  that  day  returned  from  captivity  in  Germany, 
and  knew  nothing  of  the  expedition  to  Montmartre.     Before 
Alain  could  answer,  General  Borel  spoke  up  sharply  : 
"  You  have  been  on  Montmartre  ?  " 
Alain  told  his  story. 

The  three  officers  sat  silent  ;  MacMahon  tugged  at  his 
grey  moustache  and  glanced  at  Borel,  who  gnawed  his  lip 
and  tore  bits  of  paper  from  the  map  before  him.  Alain  and 
Philip  saw  that  the  War  Ministry  was  hearing  of  the  disaster 
for  the  first  time,  and  yet  he  felt  certain  that  the  news  had 
been  received  by  M.  Thiers. 

'  Well,"  demanded  General  Le  F16,  "  what  is  your  opinion  ? 
Is  it  a  riot  or  a  revolution  ?  " 

"  Mon  General,"  replied  Alain,  "  it  is  a  riot  in  which  blood 
has  been  shed.  I  was  on  your  staff  during  the  22nd  of  Jan- 
uary in  the  Place  de  1'Hdtel  de  Ville.     The  two  riots  are  much 

alike,  only  this  one  has  not  been  checked " 

"  Who  is  this  gentleman  ?  "  interrupted  Borel,  brusquely. 
"  Monsieur  Landes,  mon  General.  An  American,  and  an 
eye-witness  ;  — and  a  brave  and  loyal  friend  who  compromised 
himself  for  me,  and  who  helped  us  to  defend  General  Lecomte 
in  the  Rue  des  Rosiers  until  defence  was  no  longer  possible." 
"  Monsieur  belongs  to  a  brave  nation,"  said  MacMahon, 
looking  kindly  at  Philip. 

The  door  opened  and  two  men  entered.  The  three  generals 
rose  and  saluted  respectfully,  but  the  smaller  of  the  new- 
comers motioned  them  to  be  seated,  and  turning  to  his  com- 
panion began  speaking  in  a  high,  thin,  querulous  voice. 

"  Monsieur  Calmon,  send  for  that  aide-de-camp  from 
General  Pointe  de  Gevigny,  and  tell  Du  Faure  to  come  to- 


A    COWARDLY    FLIGHT  63 

morrow  morning."  Then  sitting  down  in  an  arm-chair 
before  the  fireplace,  he  removed  a  pair  of  enormous  glasses, 
polished  them  with  his  handkerchief,  and  replaced  them  on 
his  nose. 

Philip  had  seen  more  than  one  picture  of  that  little  white- 
headed  gentleman,  and  he  knew  that  he  stood  in  the  presence 
of  Monsieur  Adolphe  Thiers. 

"  I  have  a  tooth-ache,"  said  the  Chief  of  the  Executive 
Power  in  a  high-pitched  voice.  "  Why  doesn't  that  aide- 
de-camp  come  ? 

General  Le  Flo  walked  over  and  whispered  some  words 
in  the  President's  ear. 

"  Eh  ?  "  cried  Thiers,  peeping  at  de  Carette  over  Le 
Flo's  shoulder.     "  Dear  me  !     Let  him  tell  his  story  again." 

"  But  surely,"  said  Marshal  MacMahon,  "  this  is  not  news 
to  you  ?  You  must  have  sent  somebody  to  Montmartre  for 
information  since  eight  o'clock  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Nobody  was  sent.  The  cannon  had  been  captured," 
snapped  the  President,  peering  at  Alain  through  his  round 
glasses.     "  Tell  your  story,  Captain." 

Alain  related  his  experience  again  briefly,   and  paused. 

"Have  you  anything  more  to  say?"    inquired  Thiers. 

"  If  the  opinion  of  an  artillery  officer "  began  Alain, 

modestly. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Thiers,  impatiently. 

"  There  was  one  cause,"  resumed  Alain,  dryly,  "  for  the 
failure  to  remove  the  guns  this  morning  after  they  were 
retaken.  No  horses  were  sent  to  remove  them.  There  was 
one  reason  why  this  failure  resulted  in  disaster.  No  food 
had  been  sent  for  the  soldiers.  The  infantry  were  in  position 
for  hours  without  having  breakfasted  and  without  any 
prospect  of  breakfasting." 

"  What  kind  of  infantry  is  that  ?  "  growled  MacMahon, 
"  which  mutinies  for  want  of  a  single  breakfast  ?  ' 

"  It  is  an  infantry  demoralized  by  mixing  with  civilians, 
mon  General." 

"  Civilians  !  "  broke  in  General  Le  F16.  "  Canaille  ! 
Montmartre  canaille  !     Belleville  ragamuffins  !  ' 

Thiers  glanced  restlessly  from  face  to  face  and  made  some 
inarticulate  noises. 

"  Mon  General  !  "  said  Alain  to  Le  F16,  "  it  is  not  for  me 
to  tell  you  the  causes  of  our  disaster.     You  know  better  than 


64  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

I  that  we  officers  have  lost  prestige  with  our  troops  through 
defeat.  In  the  field  they  still  obey  us  from  habit  and  a 
sense  of  danger,  but  here  in  the  city  an  officer  no  longer 
represents  safety." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  General  Le  F16,  "  neither  security  nor 
authority  belongs  to  a  government  which  may  cease  to  exist 
to-day  or  to-morrow.  How  can  officers  command  troops 
in  its  name  ?  " 

Thiers  looked  angrily  at  the  speaker. 

"  Et  puis,"  he  said,  turning  brusquely  to  Alain. 

"  I  fear  I  am  intruding  on  your  valuable  time,"  said  de 
Carette,  stiffly,  irritated  by  the  President's  manner. 

"  No,  no,  continue,  mon  enfant,"  said  Le  Flo. 

Alain  went  on  quietly, 

"  Those  troops  which  surrounded  Montmartre  were  really 
nothing  but  National  Guards  in  Line  uniform.  Young 
and  raw  they  fraternized  readily  with  anyone  who  brought 
them  food.  The  people  gave  them  bread,  wine,  meat, 
tobacco.  They  let  the  gamins  handle  their  rifles.  When 
their  officers  interfered,  they  cursed  them  first  and  then 
assaulted  them." 

"  The  cavalry  charged  until  cut  to  pieces,  and  the  artillery 
galloped  off  with  its  guns  to  a  place  of  safety,"  put  in  Thiers. 

The  three  Generals  exchanged  glances  at  this  proof  that 
the  President  was  well  informed  about  the  whole  affair. 
General  Le  F16  replied  : 

"  It  is  always  the  infantry  that  disbands  first  in  a  revolt, 
the  cavalry  next,  the  artillery  last.  An  infantryman  throws 
away  his  weapon  and  runs,  but  a  trooper  is  less  willing  to 
abandon  the  horse  that  carries  him,  and  which  he  considers 
his  property.  As  for  the  artillery,  it  is  composed  of  human 
units  around  a  centre,  a  massive,  formidable  arm  ;  it  disin- 
tegrates with  difficulty." 

"  After  all,"  said  General  Le  Flo,  "it  appears  that  the 
only  regiment  which  has  revolted  is  the  88th  infantry-ie- 
marche,  mostly  new  recruits  from  Belleville  and  Montmartre." 

At  that  moment  Calmon,  chief  of  Thiers'  private  cabinet, 
entered  with  the  aide-de-camp  from  General  Pointe  de 
Gevigny.  Thiers  nodded  to  them  and  then  turned  brusquely 
to  de  Carette. 

"  Neither  General  Lecomte  nor  General  Clement  Thomas 
has  been  shot.     I  have  just  seen  Messieurs  Langlois  and 


A    COWARDLY    FLIGHT  6$ 

Lockroy,  and  they  swear  that  they  will  answer  for  the  lives 
of  both  those  Generals." 

"  I  affirm  that  they  were  shot  this  afternoon,"  cried 
Alain,  hotly. 

"  But,"  insisted  Thiers,  who  had  evidently  known  the  truth 
all  the  while,  and  only  wished  to  gain  time  before  acknow- 
ledging it,  "  but  how  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you.  I  saw  the  Generals  dragged 
out  by  the  mob,  and  heard  the  shots  that  killed  them." 

"  Did  you  see  them  shot  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  it's  not  proven,"  said  the  President,  turning 
abruptly  away.  "  Where's  the  aide-de-camp  from  General 
Pointe  de  Gevigny  ?  " 

De  Carette  flushed  at  this  insult,  but  stepped  back  and  gave 
place  to  the  aide  who  now  advanced  and  saluted. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "    demanded  the  President. 

"  From  Cherbourg,  mon  President." 

"  From  whom  ?  " 

"  From  General  Pointe  de  Gevigny  and  General  Farre." 

"  And  your  name  ?  " 

"  Xavier    Feuillant,  Ordnance  officer  to  General  Farre." 

"  And  what  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  General  Farre  sends  me  to  say,"  said  the  aide,  much 
disconcerted  by  Thiers'  manner,  "  that  General  Pointe  de 
Gevigny  commands  at  Cherbourg  a  corps  of  thirty-five 
thousand  men,  with  all  facilities  for  transportation  to  Paris 
within  forty-eight  hours.  Their  discipline  and  courage  are 
unquestioned.  The  General  offers  you  his  support,  and 
promises  that  within  forty-eight  hours  not  an  insurgent 
will  remain  in  Paris  if  you  accept  his  offer." 

Thiers  flushed  and  muttered  something  about  meddling 
busybodies,  then,  turning  on  the  aide  with  a  sneer,  he 
cried  : 

"General  Pointe  de  Gevigny  is  crazy!  I  thank  him  for 
his  good  intentions,  which  are  of  no  use." 

The  aide  looked  as  though  he  would  like  to  sink  through 
the  floor  ;   the  officers  present  were  thunderstruck. 

"  I  shall  form  an  army  which  will  be  quite  sufficient  for 
our  needs,"  continued  Thiers  ;  "  you  can  retire."  Noticing 
de  Carette,  who  still  stood  at  attention,  his  uniform  hanging 
in  shreds  upon  him,  the  President  added  :    "Go,  Monsieur, 


66  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

change  your  uniform   and  return   here   at  eight  o'clock." 
Alain  saluted,  and,  taking  Philip's  arm,  went  away. 

They  had  walked  some  distance  down  the  street  before 
either  spoke.     Then  Alain  asked  : 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 
'  I  should  not  like  to  say  what  I  think  of  it." 
'  H-m  !  '     said  the  young  soldier  ;    "  on  the  contrary, 
I  should  very  much  like  to  say  what  I  think  of  it." 

The  mob  had  possessed  themselves  of  Alain's  watch, 
purse,  and  sabre.  Philip's  money  and  watch  had,  by  chance, 
not  been  taken.  After  the  experience  which  they  had  shared 
together  neither  thought  of  separating.  It  wanted  still 
five  minutes  to  seven.  If  de  Carette  was  due  at  the  War 
Ministry  in  an  hour,  so,  they  each  took  for  granted,  was 
Landes  also.  Meanwhile,  they  were  torn,  and  dirty,  and 
starved,  neither  having  washed  or  eaten  since  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  between  them  they  could  hardly  have  mustered 
one  whole  garment.  They  found  a  bath,  sent  a  messenger 
to  Alain's  quarters  and  the  studio  in  Rue  Notre-Dame  for 
fresh  clothes,  and  met  again  in  half  an  hour  to  dine  hastily 
at  the  nearest  restaurant.  It  would  not  do  to  keep 
M.  Thiers  waiting.  They  dared  not  linger  over  their  meal, 
still  less  did  either  venture  to  speak  about  something  that 
had  been  in  his  mind  all  day,  tormenting  him  with  keen 
anxiety  and  self-reproach.  The  discussion  of  Jeanne  de 
Brassac's  affairs  and  the  probable  consequences  of  their 
headlong  forgetfulness  in  rushing  away  from  the  H6tel 
Perret  without  leaving  a  soul  to  guard  it,  must  be  postponed 
until  after  the  interview  with  Thiers,  and  they  made  such 
dispatch  that  the  clocks  were  striking  eight  when  they 
presented  themselves  again  at  the  War  Ministry. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  saluted. 

"There  is  nobody  here,  Captain  de  Carette." 

"  Nobodv  here  !  " 

"Not  a  soul." 

"  The  President  ?— the  Ministers  ?  " 

"  The  Ministers  have  left.  M.  Thiers  has  gone  to  Ver- 
sailles." 

"  What  the  devil " 

"  Precisely.  I  heard  Monsieur  Thiers  say  :  '  Paris  has 
abandoned  us,  we  will  abandon  Paris.  Let  her  stew  in  her 
own  iuice,'  " 


A    COWARDLY    FLIGHT  67 

"  He  said  that  ?  " 

"  I  heard  him,  Captain." 

Alain  seized  the  officer  by  the  arm  and  drew  him  into  the 
deserted  hall.  "  This  is  Monsieur  Landes,  my  friend  and 
comrade.  Tell  us  what  you  know,"  he  said  ;  "  it's  like  a 
cursed  nightmare." 

"  This  is  all  I  know.  1  was  inspecting  the  guard  down  here. 
M.  Thiers  sat  with  his  Ministers  above  there  in  the  long  salon, 
pretending  to  hold  a  council.  I  did  not  see  it  myself,  but 
those  who  did,  say  he  would  not  listen  to  a  word.  He  shut 
up  MacMahon  and  the  old  Minister  of  War,  and  snubbed 
Borel  and  Appert,  and  yet  he  had  nothing  to  propose  him- 
self. General  Vinoy  arrived  with  his  staff.  They  left  their 
horses  at  the  gate  surrounded  by  a  squadron  of  light  cavalry 
who  had  served  as  escorts.  Every  minute  messengers  arrived 
with  fresh  news  of  the  disaster  on  Montmartre,  and  brought 
in  witnesses  of  the  murders  of  the  Generals.  Suddenly, 
there  came  cries  from  the  direction  of  the  Esplanade.  It  was 
a  battalion  of  the  National  Guard  marching  to  the  H6tel 
de  Ville  carrying  a  red  flag,  and  shouting, '  Vive  la  Commune  !' 
I  was  down  here,  I  didn't  see  him, — but  they  say  Thiers 
squealed  like  a  trapped  rabbit,  and  ran  out  into  the  hall. 
From  there  I  myself  heard  him  give  the  order  to  evacuate 
Paris.  Monsieur  de  Carette,"  said  the  officer,  bitterly, 
"  with  my  handful  of  men  I  could  have  scattered  that  bat- 
talion, red  flags  and  all." 

"Well,"  said  Alain,  through  Ms  clenched  teeth,  "and 
what  did  the  petit  bonhomme  do  next  ?  " 

"  He  ran  back  for  his  hat  and  the  next  minute  came 
tumbling  down  the  stairs.  '  General  Vinoy,'  he  called  out, 
'  I  will  take  your  escort.'  He  jumped  into  his  coupe,  and 
when  he  was  seated  he  took  out  a  blank  book,  like  one  who 
has  forgotten  a  trifle,  and  scribbled  something.  It  was 
an  order  to  abandon  Mont-Valerien." 

"  Sainte  Vierge  !  "  groaned  de  Carette,  "  this  is 
criminal." 

"  Mont-Valerien,  the  one  impregnable  fortress  between 
Paris  and  Versailles  !  "  said  Philip,  under  his  breath. 

"  Then,"  continued  the  lieutenant  passionately,  "  then 
he  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  called  the  escort 
around  him.  '  Gallop  !  Gallop  !  '  he  cried  to  the  officer  in 
charge.     '  As  long  as  we  are  on  this  side  of  the  Pont  de 


68  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Sevres  we  are  in  danger  !  '  and  the  squadron  departed  at  full 
speed,  leaving  General  Vinoy  without  an  escort." 

De  Carette  turned  crimson,  and  struck  the  table  with  his 
clenched  fist. 

"  This  is  the  man  who  proposed  to  reconstruct  France. 
The  same  man  who  prepared  the  revolution  of  1830,  and  when 
they  were  fighting  in  Paris,  ran  away  to  Enghien  ;  the  same 
man  who  prepared  the  revolution  of  1848,  and  when  the  revolt 
flamed  up  stammered  out  :  '  The  tide  rises  !  '  and  fled  in 
disguise." 

Everything  was  in  disorder,  seals  and  papers  were  lying 
on  the  tables,  books  and  precious  documents  scattered 
loosely  over  the  desks,  the  doors  of  cabinets  swung  wide  open. 

"  How  many  men  have  you,  Lieutenant  ?  " 

'*  Thirty." 

"  Can  you  hold  the  gate  ?  " 

"  To  the  last  man." 

"  Good  !  Close  windows  and  bar  shutters,  let  them  be 
beaten  in  before  you  open.  I  will  attend  to  these,"  motioning 
toward  the  Utter  of  books  and  papers.     "  Go  now." 

The  lieutenant  saluted  and  withdrew.  Alain  dropped  his 
head  in  his  hands  but  only  for  a  moment.  Springing  up,  he 
carried,  with  Philip's  help,  all  the  books,  papers,  and  seals 
to  the  cabinets,  and  closed  and  locked  the  doors.  It  was 
midnight  before  they  finished.  Then  Alain  called  a  huissier 
and  told  him  to  put  up  two  camp  beds  in  the  long  salon. 

Leaving  Philip  to  sleep  if  he  could,  de  Carette  went  down 
to  the  Court  below  where  the  little  handful  of  troops  were 
stationed. 

"  When  have  your  men  eaten,  Lieutenant  ?  " 
'  Not  in  twenty-four  hours.     There  were  no  orders,  no 
money,  and  no  provisions." 

De  Carette  took  some  gold  pieces  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  them  to  a  corporal.  "  Run  over  to  the  nearest 
restaurant  and  send  food,"  he  said.  "  Keep  a  good  watch 
and  call  me  at  the  first  alarm." 

When  he  returned  to  the  long  salon,  Landes  was  standing 
on  the  balcony.  Alain  went  and  stood  beside  him  and  they 
looked  out  together  for  a  moment.  The  night  was  calm, 
not  a  gunshot  echoed  in  the  city. 

"  Philip,"  said  de  Carette,  "  the  H6tel  Perretis  unguarded." 

"  I  know  it." 


THE    DRUMS    OF    THE    265TH  69 

'  When  did  you  first  remember  that  we  had  rushed  away 
and  left  the  de  Brassac  apartments  to  the  mercy  of  all  the 
thieves  in  Paris  ?  " 

'  Just  when  we  came  out  on  the  old  Boulevard  by  the 
sheds.  I  was  going  to  speak  of  it  and  ask  what  we  should 
do,— when  the  people  began  to  eye  your  uniform.  After 
that  it  was  no  use." 

They  listened  a  while  in  the  serene  silence  about  them. 
Philip  began  again. 

"  This  cursed  somersault  of  Thiers  makes  infinitely  worse 
a  situation  which  I  thought  was  as  bad  as  it  could  be.  There 
is  no  police  now  to  search  for  her  or  to  protect  her  if  I  found 
her,  and  as  for  me,  I  can  only  move  with  great  caution,  for 
they  are  after  me.  That  shot  which  knocked  over  my  poor 
cabby  told  all  I  need  to  know.  And  now,"  he  added  with  a 
sigh  of  fatigue  and  discouragement,  "  now  I  lose  your  help. 
Of  course,  there  is  only  one  thing  possible  for  you,  and  that  is 
to  report  to-morrow  at  the  earliest  moment  at  Versailles." 

'  Yes.  It  appears  that  is  the  way  I  reward  your  devotion 
of  to-day  by  deserting  you  to-morrow,"  said  de  Carette, 
with  a  flush  of  mortification. 

'  You  can't  help  it,"  answered  Philip,  and  they  shook 
hands  cordially. 

The  first  morning  hour  was  nearly  over  when  the  two 
young  men,  after  a  long  and  anxious  consultation,  stretched 
themselves  on  their  camp  beds  in  the  deserted  salon,  where 
they  were  soon  lying,  worn  out  and  pale,  in  a  deep  slumber. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  Drums  of  the  265TH 

At  seven  o'clock  of  the  same  morning,  Philip  sprang  upright 
on  his  cot.  "  The#  are  knocking,  Alain,"  he  said,  but  de 
Carette  was  already  at  the  door. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "   he  demanded. 

"  The  Officer  of  the  guard." 

Alain  threw  open  the  door  and  sitting  down  began  to  pull 
on  his  riding  boots  while  the  lieutenant  reported  "  all  well." 

"  General  d'Abzac  came  at  six.  He  refused  to  believe 
me  when  I  told  him  the  government  had  fled  " — a  tall  figure 


70 


THE    RED    REPUBLIC 


in  the  uniform  of  a  chef  d'escadron  of  artillery  appeared  in 
the  doorway  :  "  Hello,  Alain,  I  just  heard  that  the  govern- 
ment has  run  away.  It's  not  true  of  coui  >e,  it's  some 
blague  !  '  Tardif  de  Moidrey,  of  the  artillery  stationed 
at  the  Tuileries,  was  in  a  rage.  His  deep  angry  voice  boomed 
like  a  big  bell  through  the  empty  rooms. 
"  It's  true,  mon  ami,"  said  Alain. 

"  What  !  "  thundered  de  Moidrey.  "  Damn  their  white 
livers,  they  have  left  me  and  my  four  batteries  in  the  Tuileries 
without  any  orders  !     I  want  my  orders  !  " 

"  Mon  Commandant,"  replied  Alain,  "  nobody  is  left  at 
the  War  Ministry  but  myself  and  a  guard.  Go  to  the  Gover- 
nor of  Paris." 

"  I  have  just  come  from  there,"  cried  de  Moidrey,  "  there 
isn't  a  soul  there.     At  least  there's  an  officer  here." 
"  Mon  Commandant,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 
"  Have  you  got  the  seals  of  the  Ministry  ?  " 
'*  Yes." 

"  Then  write  me  an  order  and  I  can  get  out  by  the  Porte 
Dauphine  with  my  batteries.  I  call  you  to  witness,  Captain 
de  Carette,  that  Thiers  runs  away  in  such  haste  that  he 
forgets  my  brave  little  batteries  !  "  De  Moidrey  walked 
furiously  about  the  room,  shouting,  '  Monstrous  !  In- 
credible !  '  while  Alain  scribbled  the  order  and  affixed  the 
seals  of  the  Ministry. 

Hardly  had  de  Moidrey  stalked  wrathfully  away  with  his 
order  when  others  arrived  with  similar  demands.  General 
Bocher  came  and  said  :  "  My  brigade  was  under  arms  all 
night.  I  would  not  even  let  my  men  lie  down.  They  sat 
with  chassepot  in  hand  on  their  cots,  expecting  every 
moment  the  order  to  move  on  Montmartre." 

Count  Arthur  de  Vogue  of  the  Mobiles  began  speaking 
at  the  same  time,  but  both  were  now  silenced  by  a  sound 
from  the  street,  the  measured  tread  of  marching  men.  All 
crowded  to  the  windows. 

'  Is  it  the  Federals  ?  "  cried  Bocher,  drawing  his  revolver. 
"  No,  it's  the  Line." 

Farron's  division  was  swinging  along  toward  the  Porte 
Dauphine  in  perfect  silence  save  for  the  metallic  clink  clank 
of  the  steel-shod  horses  and  the  rhythmic  trample  of  the  men. 
The  35th  passed  in  splendid  order,  followed  by  the  42nd, 
several  regiments  de  marche  and  the  Gendarmerie. 


THE    DRUMS    OF    THE    26 $TH  7 1 

"  Monsieur  Thiers  runs  away  when  he  has  such  troops 
as  these  at  his  command,"  sneered  an  officer.  "  II  me 
degoute  a  la  fin,  ce  petit  bonhomme." 

When  the  last  gendarme  had  ridden  out  of  the  Rue  St. 
Dominique,  the  officers  turned  to  each  other  with  gestures 
of  despair.  "  There  is  but  one  thing  for  us  to  do,"  they  said  ; 
"  join  the  army  now  forming  at  Versailles." 

One  by  one  they  shook  hands  with  Alain  and  left. 

"  I'll  take  my  brigade  out  without  losing  a  man  !  "  stormed 
Bocher,  as  he  tramped  down  the  stairs  and  slammed  the 
wicket.  The  huissiers  were  coming  up  in  a  body  as  the 
officers  descended.  They  wanted  to  know  if  they  might  go 
too. 

"  The  Federals  may  come  at  any  moment,"  said  one  of 
them,  "  and  the  guard  below  would  only  be  massacred." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  de  Carette.  "  Go  !  "  Alain  and 
Philip  were  left  standing  alone  in  the  deserted  War  Ministry. 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  Alain,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  that  little 
post  below  must  get  out  of  the  city.  They'd  better  go  now 
or  it  will  be  too  late."  He  wrote  the  order  and  sealed  it ; 
then,  locking  up  the  seals,  he  took  his  cap  and  sabre  and 
beckoned  Philip  to  follow. 

When  they  reached  the  courtyard  the  guard  of  the  110th 
presented  arms. 

"  I  will  inspect  your  men,"  said  de  Carette  to  the  lieutenant 
in  charge,  calling  the  others  from  the  garden. 

With  their  battered  forage  caps  and  faded  red  trousers, 
their  blight  faces  and  firm  bearing,  the  little  detachment 
stood  silent  and  attentive,  while  de  Carette  passed  them 
rapidly  in  inspection.  Then  he  turned  to  the  lieutenant. 
"  Here  is  your  order  ;  go  by  the  Porte  Dauphine.     March  !  " 

The  lieutenant  hesitated  and  stammered  : 

"  But  we  would  like  to  see  you  safe  first,  mon  Capitaine  ; 
is  it  not  so,  mes  enfants  ?  '  The  little  troop  swinging  their 
battered  caps  woke  up  the  courtyard  and  hallway  with  their 
cheering. 

'  Thank  you,  my  children,"  said  Alain,  much  moved  ; 
"  I  am  safe  ;  obey  orders  !  March  !  " 

The  lieutenant  straightened  up.  "  March  !  "  he  repeated, 
and  saluting,  passed  out  into  the  street  with  his  handful  of 
men.     Alain  and  Philip  were  left  alone.  ;  * 

"  Come  up  on  the  terrace  of  the  garden,"  said  de  Carette  ; 

F 


J2  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  we  can  talk  there  and  watch  the  Rue  de  Bourgogne  at  the 
same  time  ;  they  will  come  from  that  direction  ;  '  and  he 
led  the  way.  The  sun  was  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky.  Birds 
chirped  from  every  shrub  ;  it  was  Sunday,  a  Sabbath  still- 
ness was  in  the  air.  Across  the  river  a  mellow  bell  tolled 
and  the  soft  spring  wind  bore  a  murmur  of  distant  chimes 
to  their  ears.  They  sat  down  on  the  parapet  over-looking 
the  Rue  de  Bourgogne,  and  Alain  produced  two  rolls  and  a 
bottle  of  milk. 

"  Perhaps  our  last  meal  together,"  said  Landes,  smiling. 

"  Who  knows?  Versailles  is  not  far  off,"  said  de  Carette. 
"  Not  far  off,"  he  repeated,  sadly  ;  "  and  yet  I  predict  that 
if  we  have  found  it  easy  to  leave  Paris  we  shall  not  find  it 
easy  to  return.  It's  a  bad  business — a  bad  business." 
Landes  nodded. 

"  As  for  leaving  you,  can  you  imagine  how  I  hate  to  do 
that  ?  It  seems  like  desertion,  you  know.  If  I  could  stay, 
Philip,  my  friend,  I  would." 

'  I  know  you  would,"  answered  Philip ;    "  why  speak  of 
it  ?     Do  you  think  Thiers  means  to  come  back  ?  " 

"  He  means  to,  yes,  and  he  will  if  he  can.  Oh,  of  course, 
some  time  we  shall  retake  the  city,  but  what  will  happen 
first  ?  " 

"  The  Commune  means  the  Reign  of  Terror,"  said  Landes. 

"  That,  and  nothing  else,"  said  Alain.  "  What  will  these 
fishmonger  captains  do  with  their  newly  acquired  power  ? 
What  will  that  criminal  Flourens,  what  will  those  creature* 
Assi  and  Delescluze — what  will  Raoul  Rigault " 

A  voice  from  the  street  broke  in  : 

"  Hey  !    you  officer  up  there  !  " 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  de  Carette,  sharply,  looking 
over  the  parapet.  It  was  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  a  National 
Guard,  swaying  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  sidewalk, 
very  drunk. 

"  What  d'  I  want  ?  I'll  tell  you,  young  cock-of-the-walk  ; 
I  want  you  to  und'stand  that  I  am  as  good  as  you  are,  and 
thash  what  I  want." 

De  Carette  watched  him  closely.  "  There  may  be  more  of 
them,"  he  whispered  to  Landes  ;  "  get  your  revolver  ready." 

"  Wha'  d'  I  want  ?  Thash  good.  I'm  a  goin'  to  tell  you, 
my  gold-trimmed  canary  bird.  I'm  Yssel — Jean  Marie 
Joseph  Yssel — from  Lorient,  'n  thash  a  dam  good  place  !  " 


THE    DRUMS    OF    THE    265TH  73 

"  Excellent,"  replied  Alain,  and  cocked  his  revolver. 

"  Dam  sight  better'n  Paris  !  " 

"  Dam  sight,"  replied  the  urbane  Captain. 

"  I'm  Yssel,  Jean  Marie  Joseph  Yssel,  fourth  comp'ny, 
266th  battalion,  corporal,  an'  know  a  dam  sight  more'n  my 
Colonel." 

"  You  are  very  intelligent,"  replied  Alain.  The  fellow 
whipped  out  a  revolver  and  began  firing  in  all  directions, 
accompanying  each  shot  with  unearthly  whoops. 

"  I'm  dam  sight  better'n  the  Colonel,  better'n  you, better'n 
everybody,"  he  yelled,  as  the  racket  of  his  fusillade  died 
away,  and  he  hurled  his  empty  revolver  across  the  street. 
Then  with  a  vinous  smile  he  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

"  You're  a  hell  of  a  Captain  !  "  he  observed  to  de  Carette. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  perfect." 

"  No,  you're  an  ass  !  " 

Alain  and  Landes  had  to  laugh,  and  the  drunkard  promptly 
joined  in.     Then  he  got  up  and  tried  the  gate. 

"  We're  three  pretty  good  fellows,"  he  called  up,  with  a 
wink,  "  ain't  we  ?  " 

"  We  are,  indeed,"  replied  Landes,  fervently,  "  especially 

you." 

"  say — 1  like  your  friend,"  bawled  the  soldier  to  Alain  ; 
"  he's  a  good  fellow,  ain't  he  ?     Lemme  in." 

"  Where  are  your  friends  ?  "   asked  Alain. 

"  Ain't  got  no  fren's,"  bawled  the  drunkard,  weeping  and 
snuffling.  "  Ain't  got  nothin'  nor  nobody  !  Lemme  in  !  " 
and  he  beat  upon  the  gate  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"  Where's  your  battalion  ?  " 

"  Ain't  got  no  battalion." 

"  Yes,  you  have  ;    where  is  it  ? 

"  In  h— 1  !     In  Belleville." 

"  They're  synonymous,"  whispered  Alain  to  Philip.  "  Are 
they  coming  this  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  guess  so." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Lemme  in,  Captain,"  pleaded  the  corporal,  knocking 
great  dents  in  his  rifle  barrel  against  the  gate. 

"  Not  till  you  tell  me  when  your  battalion  is  coming." 

"  It's  coming  soon — at  ten  o'clock'n'all's  well'n'  I'm 
drunk,"  sang  the  man. 

"Who's  the  Colonel?  " 


74  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"Colonel's  a  fool." 

"  Yes — but  what's  his  name  ?  " 

'  I  said  fool.     Op'n  the  gate.     I  want  to  be  sociable." 
'  I  mean  his  other  name,"  persisted  Alain,  patiently. 

"  Wilton, — £cole  des  Beaux  Arts." 

'  I  know  him,"  whispered  Philip,  excitedly.     "  He's  an 
American  student,  an  artist,  great  chum  of  Gustave  Courbet." 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  lemmc  in  ?  "  pleaded  the  corporal, 
with  a  final  bang  on  the  gate  which  sent  his  rifle  into 
smithereens. 

'  What  did  you  say  the  Colonel's  name  was  ?  " 

"  Wilton,  a  Yankee  goddam  plom  pudding  rosbiff — I  can 

tell  you  all  the  officers  of  the  265th,  too,  if  I  want  to.     I 

know  more'n  anybody,  an'  I'm  only  a  poor  d — n  corporal." 

'  What  injustice  !  "  exclaimed  Alain  ;   "  and  who  are  the 

gentlemen  of  the  265th  ?  " 

"Tribert,  Colonel." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Antoine  Tribert — an  ass." 

Philip  and  Alain  exchanged  a  slight  glance  ;  then  Landes 
said  :    "  Where  is  the  battalion  stationed  ?  " 

"  In  the  Rue  des  Rosiers  ;   ain't  you  goin'  to  lemme  in  ?  " 

"Where?  " 

"  In  the  Rue  des  Rosiers.  Colonel's  headquarters  in  the 
Impasse  de  la  Mort."  Philip  felt  Alain's  hand  on  his  arm, 
but  they  did  not  look  at  one  another. 

"Goon." 

"  Wha'  d'  you  want  to  know  ?  Lemme  in  that  gate. 
Let's  be  fraternal." 

"  Yes,  all  right.     Does  he  sleep  there  ?  " 

"  How  in  hell  d'  I  know  ?  " 

"  Who  are  his  officers  ?  " 

"  Sarre." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Andre  Sarre,  captain,  Isidore  Weser,  lieutenant,  aide-de- 
camp Pagot — here,  I'm  not  tellin'  all  I  know,  an'  I  want  to 
get  in  an'  fraternize " 

At  that  moment  the  roll  of  drums  filled  the  Rue  de  Bour- 
gogne,  and  around  the  corner  crept  a  dozen  soldiers  thrown 
out  as  skirmishers.  They  glided  along  close  to  the  walls, 
rifles  poised,  heads  bent  forward,  while  louder  and  louder  the 
drums  rolled  and  nearer  and  nearer  sounded  the  petulant  bugle. 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  75 

"  The  first  guard  from  the  Commune,"  whispered  Alain  ; 
"  come." 

They  crossed  the  terrace,  ascended  a  few  steps,  and,  taking 
a  path  through  the  shrubbery,  entered  a  narrow  alley  which 
led  into  a  courtyard.     There  they  paused. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Alain,  as  they  grasped  each  other's 
hands.  '  This  gate  leads  into  the  Rue  d'Athis,  from  there  I 
can  reach  the  St.  Lazare  station  and  be  in  Veisailles  in  about 
an  hour.  My  address  will  be  Vinoy's  staff.  I  have  yours  in 
the  Rue  Notre-Dame.  Remember  you  promised  to  keep  me 
informed  if  possible.  Good-bye  once  more,  Philip,  my 
friend." 

And  saying  "  Courage  "  to  each  other  they  parted,  Alain 
passing  through  the  gate  into  the  Rue  d'Athis  and  Philip 
taking  an  alley  which  led  to  the  Pont  Neuf. 

So  they  separated,  with  the  sound  of  the  Commune's 
drums  in  their  ears  and  black  foreboding  in  their  hearts. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  Impasse  de  la  Mort 

The  clock  in  the  Luxembourg  Palace  struck  two  as  Landes 
turned  from  the  Rue  de  Seine  into  the  Rue  St.  Sulpice.  To 
reach  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  he  made  for  the  Place  St.  Sulpice, 
intending  to  cut  across  diagonally  to  the  Rue  d'Assas,  but  his 
progress  was  barred  at  the  entrance  of  the  Place  by  sentinels 
of  the  National  Guard  who  warned  him  back  with  the  sharp 
cry,  "  au  large  !   au  large  !  " 

Along  the  line  of  sentinels  a  curious  crowd  had  gathered. 
What  they  were  watching  Landes  could  not  see,  until  he 
crossed  the  street.  Here  a  jumble  of  cabs,  trucks,  and 
omnibuses  were  stuck  fast,  forbidden  to  proceed,  unable  to 
turn  back.  When  he  stepped  upon  the  sidewalk,  and  turned 
to  get  a  full  view  of  the  square,  the  matter  was  explained. 
Hundreds  of  soldiers  of  the  National  Guard  were  working 
like  beavers  along  the  four  sides  of  the  Place,  and  already 
a  formidable  barricade  of  paving  stones  had  been  erected. 
The  Federals,  rifles,  coats,  and  cartridge-belts  thrown  aside, 
were  attacking  the  granite  blocks  of  the  pavement  with 


7b  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

pick  and  crow.  A  bow-legged  officer,  with  red  reverses  to  his 
tunic  and  yards  of  gold  lace  on  sleeve  and  kepi,  straddled 
up  and  down  the  sidewalk  where  the  men  were  working  and 
where  the  shop  windows  reflected  his  own  charms.  He  talked 
in  a  loud  nasal  voice  and  divided  his  attention  between  his 
reflection  in  the  windows  and  a  group  of  pretty  shop-girls 
who  were  giggling  on  the  curb. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  qu'il  est  beau  !  "  tittered  a  saucy  brunette, 
"  such  graceful  legs  !  " 

"  His  legs  are  Renaissance  architecture — ladies,  Francois 
Premier  !  "  said  a  student  with  a  T-square  under  one  arm 
and  a  drawing-board  under  the  other. 

The  girls  giggled  until  everybody  in  the  vicinity  laughed 
too. 

"  Not  Renaissance, — Moorish  !  "  put  in  another  student. 
"  Look  at  him  now  as  he  stands — the  rear  view — a  perfect 
Moorish  arch  !  Those  legs,  ladies  ! — admire  this  fragment 
from  the  Alhambra,  imported  by  the  government  at  enormous 
expense  for  the  instruction  of  the  Paris  public  and " 

A  soldier  tried  to  seize  him,  but  he  dodged  and  mounted  an 
omnibus,  from  the  top  of  which  Landes,  hurrying  away, 
heard  him  still  explaining  in  a  loud  voice  the  priceless  value 
of  this  human  gem  of  Moorish  architecture,  amid  shrieks  of 
laughter  from  the  bystanders. 

"  How  can  they  laugh  ?  How  can  they  ?  '  Philip  thought, 
hastening  on  toward  the  Luxembourg.  "  Nobody  but  a 
Parisian  would  make  a  jest  of  these  sinister  preparations." 

He  reached  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard  and  started  to  cross  the 
Luxembourg  gardens,  but  again  sentinels  barred  his  way, 
and  again  the  ominous  cry,  "  au  large  !  au  large  !  "  made  him 
halt.  A  hasty  glance  across  the  dead  line  showed  that  the 
gardens  were  alive  with  Federal  troops,  mostly  infantry  of 
the  National  Guard. 

Forced  to  make  the  long  detour  by  the  Rue  d'Assas,  he 
hastened  on,  passing  more  Federals  in  the  Rue  de  Luxem- 
bourg, and  a  partly-built  barricade  at  the  junction  of  the  Rue 
de  Flcurus  ;  and  at  last  he  passed  through  the  Rue  Vavin  and 
the  Rue  Notre-Dame  to  his  own  studio. 

Joseph,  his  concierge,  open  critic  and  secret  admirer,  stood 
at  the  gate  of  the  long  ivy-covered  alley  which  led  to  the 
studio.     The  sight  of  him  did  Philip  good. 

After  the  horrors  of  the  Place  Pigalle,  the  slaughter  in  the 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  77 

Rue  des  Rosiers,  after  what  seemed  years  of  absence  in  a  land 
of  nightmares,  this  home-coming  moved  him  deeply.  He 
could  have  embraced  Joseph  in  his  blue  blouse — but  he 
merely  said  : 

'  Well,  Joseph,  here  I  am  and  glad  to  be  here.  It  seems 
as  if  I  had  been  away  a  long  time." 

'  Three  days,  Monsieur  Landes,"  replied  Joseph,  in 
sepulchral  tones.  There  was  accusation  in  his  eyes  and  a 
pained  expression  about  his  mouth. 

'  Is  all  well?  '  inquired  Philip,  perfectly  aware  of  what 
was  coming. 

Joseph  raised  an  appealing  hand  to  Heaven,  then  with 
eyes  turned  in  the  same  direction  he  wailed  aloud  : 

'  Is  all  well  ?  Monsieur  asks  me  if  all  is  well  !  Three 
days  and  nights  has  Monsieur  absented  himself,  with  Mon- 
sieur's gay  friends,  never  leaving  me,  his  concierge  true  and 
faithful,  any  sign  or  word.  It  is  the  same  to  Monsieur  that 
I  pass  my  nights  in  anxious  watching,  that  I  run  hither  and 
thither,  fearing  lest  harm  has  befallen  Monsieur  ;  it  is  the 
same  to  him,  that  I,  alarmed  for  his  safety,  fly  to  the  Morgue 
and  to  the  police  with  cries  of  fright, — and  my  toe  too  lame 
to  wear  a  sabot  ! — and  my  gout  which  protests  !  " 

'  I'm  sorry,  Joseph,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  This  was  no 
escapade." 

Joseph  fixed  his  gaze  on  his  mop  which  was  lying  near  the 
gutter,  and  still  refusing  to  notice  Philip,  addressed  it  in 
impassioned  strains,  gesticulating  wildly  : 

"  Monsieur  has  no  regard  for  his  Joseph,  faithful  and 
diligent.  Monsieur  deigns  to  send  no  word  which  might 
calm  and  comfort.  No  !  Monsieur  sends  only  a  basket  of 
dogs  and  cats — howling  cats,  which  sit  and  make  enormou3 
eyes  at  one." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Philip,  "  did  the  trooper  bring  the  cat  and 
the  puppy  ?  " 

Then  at  last  Joseph  addressed  him  directly. 

"  Monsieur  Philip,  the  puppy  is  biting  holes  in  everything 
within  the  studio,  and  the  cat  claws  the  bark  from  the 
almond  tree  and  ruins  the  rose  bushes.  Yet  for  Monsieur's 
sake  I  have  been  kind  to  the  animals." 

"  Of  course  you  have,  Joseph.     You're  a  jewel." 

He  had  passed  down  the  ivy-covered  alley,  Joseph  at  his 
heels,  crossed  the  little  garden,  and  now  he  stood  in  the  door- 


yS  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

way  of  the  rear  building  where  the  studio  was.  An  irregular 
quadrangle  of  house  and  garden  walls  enclosed  the  peaceful 
little  court,  roofs  and  gables  of  different  heghts  rose  around  it 
against  a  fair  spring  sky.  A  mossy  fountain  was  in  the 
middle,  bordered  by  almond  trees  and  rose  bushes.  Philip 
looked  kindly  at  the  concierge,  and  repeated  : 

"  You  are  a  jewel,  Joseph."  The  faithful  one  concealed 
his  pleasure  and  rubbed  his  nose  pensively. 

"  Did  Monsieur  receive  his  clothes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you.  Now,  get  my  bath  ready  and  I  want 
something  to  eat — anything — I'm  going  out  again  presently." 

"  To  stay  three  days  more  ?  " 

"  No — no.     Has  Monsieur  Ellice  been  here?  " 

"  Five  times,  in  anguish  !  " 

"  Anyone  else  ?  " 

"  A  lady — Mademoiselle  Faustine  Courtois  this  morning. 
She  will  return  again  to-day  :  she  said  so." 

"  Is  that  all?  " 

"  A  soldier  came  from  the  Luxembourg  two  days  ago. 
He  requested  Monsieur  to  go  at  once  to  the  Palace " 

"  A  soldier  ?  " 

"  A  dragoon.  He  said  to  tell  Monsieur  there  was  bad 
news  from  the  Place  Pigalle.  I  didn't  know  what  he  meant," 
added  Joseph,  tentatively,  but  Philip  only  answered  : 

"  Ah — well  !  My  bath  now, — and  something  to  eat  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  it."  He  turned  into  the  hallway  and 
fitted  a  key  into  the  first  door  on  the  left. 

When  he  entered  his  studio  the  setter  puppy  left  the  hole 
in  the  panther  skin  which  he  had  been  patiently  enlarging, 
and  looked  up  with  both  ears  cocked  forward.  Philip 
called  him  gently,  and  the  little  creature  dashed  enthusias- 
tically into  his  arms.  The  cat  also  remembered  him,  and 
rising  from  the  cushioned  divan,  opened  her  great  emerald 
eyes,  stretched,  yawned,  and  began  to  purr.  Lifting  her, 
Philip  sat  down  on  the  divan  and  gathered  them  both  into 
his  lap.  Then  in  the  pleasant  stillness  of  the  familiar  and 
sheltered  room,  homeless  Jeanne  de  Brassac  came  and  took 
entire  possession  of  his  thoughts,  and  his  brain  went  on 
working  at  the  problem  of  her  rescue,  as  it  had  not  ceased  to 
do  since  he  stumbled  into  the  apartment  of  the  Hotel  Perret. 
In  all  the  grim  horrors  of  the  Rue  des  Rosiers,  in  the  turmoil 
of  the  Place  Pigalle,  and  the  sinister  silence  of  the  deserted 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT 


n 


War  Ministry,  his  thoughts  for  her  had  scarcely  suffered 
interruption.  Amid  the  infernal  clamour  of  the  Chateau 
Rouge — the  sickening  confusion,  violence,  and  cruelty — the 
horror  and  dread  of  death,  her  face  was  always  before  him, 
and  his  distressed  heartbeats  spelled  out  her  name.  And 
now  he  sat  with  her  pets  in  his  arms  and  pondered  the  almost 
hopeless  problem  of  her  rescue. 

The  police  had  been  driven  from  the  city,  the  garrison 
at  the  Luxembourg  had  fled  to  Versailles,  nobody  was  left 
to  whom  he  could  go  for  aid  or  even  for  advice.  And  he 
himself,  a  marked  man,  could  easily  involve  her  in  worse 
danger  still  by  a  wrong  move.  Moreover,  the  thought  of 
lying  under  a  dead  wall,  with  a  handkerchief  over  his  eyes, 
and  twelve  bullets  of  the  265th  battalion  in  his  body,  had 
small  charms  for  him. 

Well,  it  appeared  that  he  must  find  Jeanne  de  Brassac 
alone,  if  at  all.  He  could  not  think  of  a  soul  in  all  Paris  to 
help  him.  Yes,  there  was  one — Faustine  Courtois,  she  might 
be  useful,  through  her  relations  with  Tribert.  But  how  ? 
That  was  far  from  clear.  The  only  thing  certain  was  that  he 
could  trust  her.  It  never  entered  his  mind  to  doubt  Faus 
tine, — and  she  had  been  seeking  him  already  to-day.  And 
she  was  coming  back  before  evening, — he  would  wait  till  she 
came. 

Joseph  entered  and  said  the  bath  was  ready,  and  luncheon 
would  be  served  in  half  an  hour,  so  without  more  delay 
Landes  tumbled  his  four-footed  wards  in  a  heap  together  on 
the  divan  and  went  into  his  bedroom. 

When  he  came  out  again  into  the  studio,  fresh  and  hungry, 
a  small  table  was  laid  and  Joseph  was  already  placing  the 
omelet  upon  it.  The  Bordeaux  was  good,  the  linen  was 
white,  the  pretty  china  and  silver  were  bright.  The  cat  and 
puppy  invited  themselves  at  once,  and  Philip  did  the  honours 
with  a  bowl  of  milk.  He  finished  soon.  Joseph  set  his 
coffee  beside  the  divan,  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  threw 
himself  down  there  to  wait  for  Faustine. 

A  glass  extension  was  built  out  from  the  studio  into  the 
garden.  The  afternoon  sun  shone  down  the  alley  across  the 
court,  and  a  broad  patch  of  sunlight  fell  through  the  glass 
on  the  floor  of  the  studio.  The  cat  sat  blinking  in  the  middle 
of  it,  occasionally  twisting  to  polish  her  back  with  her  pink 
tongue.     The  puppy  returned  to  the  hole  in  the  panther  skin, 


8o  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

but  after  a  few  mouthfuls  settled  down  quietly  and  thought, 
— planning  other  and  more  important  holes  in  more  valuable 
property  of  the  studio  for  future  industry. 

From  wheie  Landes  was  lying  he  could  see  the  garden. 
He  had  noticed  as  he  came  in  that  the  almond  tree  and 
lilac  bushes  were  covered  with  buds,  and  had  marked  the 
tender  amber-coloured  shoots  from  the  thorn-covered 
branches  of  the  roses.  As  he  rested  now  idly  among  the 
cushions,  the  sunshine  was  warm  and  soothing,  and  a  breeze 
blew  through  an  open  window  in  soft  aromatic  puffs.  A 
shadow  fell  across  the  glass  roof  ;  there  was  a  flirt  and  a  flash 
of  sun-tipped  wings,  and  then  a  burst  of  liquid  melody  from 
the  almond  tree  by  the  fountain.  Landes  sat  up  and 
listened  ;  the  cat  also  raised  her  head  and  her  splendid  eyes 
sparkled. 

"The  first  blackbird,"  said  Landes,  rising  and  going  to 
the  open  door.  There  sat  the  vocalist  ruffling  his  velvety 
black  plumage,  preening  an  unsatisfactory  feather  here  and 
there  with  his  bright  yellow  bill.  The  cat  followed  Landes 
and  promptly  began  to  stalk  the  bird,  but  Philip  put  a  stop 
to  that  and  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  in  the  full  glow  of  the 
sun  pouring  down  the  ivy-covered  alley.  The  gravel  walks 
and  moist  flower-beds  smelled  of  spring,  the  little  circular 
stone  basin  of  the  fountain  reflected  a  faint  green  of  awakening 
water  vegetation,  and  two  cynical  goldfish,  who  lived  among 
the  rocks  at  the  bottom,  came  out  and  floated  near  the  sur- 
face, waving  their  fins. 

Philip  felt  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  the  crumpled  paper 
which  he  had  surprised  Georgias  writing  in  the  Place  Pigalle. 
For  the  hundredth  time  he  read  the  few  lines  : 

"  Mon  Cher  Raoul :    If  you  think  that  the  Impasse  is  safe 

enough,  Tribert  can  hold  the  bird  there  until- "  here  the 

letter  had  been  interrupted  by  his  own  sudden  entrance. 
Until  the  drunken  corporal  came  under  the  terrace  of  the  War 
Ministry  the  word  "  Impasse  "  might  have  meant  any  of  the 
countless  alleys  which  lay  hidden  in  older  Paris,  but  now 
he  knew  it  meant  the  "  Impasse  de  la  Mort,"  Tribert's  head- 
quarters, a  narrow  unpaved  cul-de-sac  which  branched 
at  right  angles  from  the  Faubourg  du  Temple  just  above  the 
Canal  St.  Martin.  Possibly  one  Parisian  in  a  thousand  had 
ever  heard  of  it.  Landes  knew  it,  because  his  little  model, 
Sara  Lalo,  lived  there.     One  day,  when  her  drunken  father 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  8 1 

had  nearly  killed  her,  Philip  had  gone  thither  to  give  him 
a  bit  of  advice. 

The  rest  of  the  letter  was  simple  as  far  as  it  went  ;  the 
"  bird  "  meant  Jeanne  de  Brassac  of  course.  As  he  looked 
down  at  the  letter  and  thought  of  the  child  in  that  vile  den, 
in  the  power  of  those  criminals,  an  impulse  to  rush  off  and 
tear  her  out  of  their  hands  shook  him.  But,  of  course,  that 
passed,  and  left  him  feeling  more  helpless  than  before.  Could 
the  model  be  of  use  ?  How  could  he  get  word  to  her  ?  Days 
might  be  wasted  in  that  attempt,  and  then,  how  did  he  know 
that  he  could  trust  her  ?  Thrown  back  once  more  upon 
Faustine  Courtois,  he  began  to  watch  impatiently  for  her 
coming.  The  afternoon  was  passing,  the  lights  growing 
longer  and  longer, — she  must  come  soon.  And  sure  enough 
in  a  few  moments  the  gate  opened  without  any  ring, — trust 
Joseph  for  being  on  the  watch, — steps  came  down  the  alley, 
and  Faustine  entered  the  garden. 

With  a  gesture  of  welcome,  Landes  rose,  and  motioned  her 
into  the  studio,  following,  and  closing  the  door. 

The  girl  stood  before  him  quiet  and  pale.  He  noted  the 
strained  expression  of  her  eyes,  the  worn,  almost  sunken  look 
of  her  cheeks  and  temples.  They  seemed  to  him  so  many 
signs  of  her  participation  in  the  violence  of  the  past  three 
days .  He  eyed  the  knot  of  red  ribbon  on  her  breast,  and  could 
not  restrain  his  anger. 

"  Well,"  he  said  curtly. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Philip — so  you  are  safe." 

"  Never  mind  me,"  he  answered  harshly.  "  I  want  to 
know  what  you  are  wearing  that  thing  for.  Are  you  proud 
of  your  murders,  and  your  anarchy  ?  Were  you  content  with 
the  cowardly  foot-pad  assassination  of  the  old  Count  de 
Brassac  ?  God  !  If  I  had  known  you  were  such  a  girl  as 
that  !  " 

"  You  are  very  hard,"  she  answered,  with  white  lips. 
"  We  have  been  such  good  friends." 

"  We  never  would  have  been  if  I  had  not  thought  you  a 
kind,  harmless  girl." 

"  Kind  !  Harmless  !  "  she  flashed  out.  "  You  begin  to 
tire  me  Monsieur.     Who  sings  of  kindness  in  these  days  ?  " 

"  Not  you  and  your  friends,  it  appears.  The  chorus  of 
the  Commune  is  '  Murder  and  Ruin,  Ruin  and  Murder.' 
I  hope  you  like  it.     It's  a  nice  song  for  a  woman  !  ' 


»2  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  You  shall  not  charge  crimes  on  the  Commune  for  which 
it  is  not  to  blame  !  " 

"  Who  is  to  blame  then?  "  She  was  silent.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  the  Commune  did  not  authorize  the  crimes 
on  Montmartre  ?  " 

"  The  barricades,  the  struggle  for  liberty, — yes." 

"  The  attack  on  the  troops  !  Why  did  the  mob  attack 
the  troops  ?  "   he  demanded. 

"  Why  did  Thiers  try  to  steal  our  cannon  ?  " 

"  Why  did  the  Commune  slaughter  the  prisoners  in  the 
Rue  des  Rosiers  ?  " 

"  It  did  not  !  The  Commune  did  not  !  '  she  cried 
passionately.  "  It  wanted  to  prevent  those  murders.  It  has 
been  betrayed  by  criminals  who  use  its  name  to  cloak  their 
crimes  !  " 

"  And  the  Central  Committee,  for  what  is  that  a  cloak? 
Where  was  it  at  the  Chateau  Rouge,  in  the  Rue  des  Rosiers  ? 
What  is  it  ?  A  shade  ?  A  pretence  ?  A  cloak,  as  you  say, 
— but  for  the  Commune's  crimes  !  " 

"  Ah  !  mon  ami,  you  are  wrong.  The  Central  Committee 
is  composed  of  patriots.  It  has  decreed  the  city  elections. 
They  will  take  place  peacefully.  Then  the  Committee  will 
retire,  and  leave  Paris  to  be  governed  by  the  men  of  her 
own  choosing " 

"  In  the  meanwhile  throwing  up  a  few  barricades." 

"  Certainly  ;  and  arming  the  forts  and  enceintes,"  she  said, 
coolly  ignoring  lus  sarcasm. 

Landes  watched  her,  dismayed.  Tliis  child  !  It  seemed 
impossible  that  she  could  understand  the  horror  of  what  she 
defended,  the  true  meaning  of  her  own  prattle  about  forts 
and  barricades. 

"  Faustine,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  Commune 
did  not  countenance  the  murders  on  Montmartre  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"But  the  Central  Committee  was  there — if  it  was  any- 
where. Word  was  continually  coming  that  it  would  sit 
here — convene  there,  and  we  were  dragged  about  to  find  it." 

"  You?  '  she  interrupted,  turning  still  whiter.  He  put 
her  question  aside  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  What  then  is  the  Central  Committee  ?  Is  it  an  empty 
name  for  something  else  to  hide  behind  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  she  cried,  indignantly. 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  83 

"  Then,"  he  broke  out,  angry  at  her  evasion,  "  it  is  the 
Commune  !  " 

"  If  you  like,"  she  answered  sullenly.  He  saw  his  mistake. 
It  was  the  first  time  Faustine  had  ever  spoken  to  him  in  that 
tone.  All  his  hopes  depended  on  the  girl,  and  here  he  was  on 
the  verge  of  a  quarrel  with  her.  He  took  her  hand,  and  said 
gently : 

"  My  poor  Faustine  !  Do  you  like  to  see  your  city  running 
stark  mad  ?  Does  one  love  liberty,  and  close  the  streets  with 
bayonets  ?  Does  one  inaugurate  a  Republic  with  murder 
and  theft  ?  That  blood-coloured  thing  you  wear  on  your 
jacket,  is  it  the  symbol  of  the  Commune  ?  Then  it  is  the 
symbol  of  ignorance,  brutality,  and  cruelty.  And  you  wear  it !" 
'  Yes — I  wear  it."  There  was  a  pause — and  she  added 
through  her  set  teeth,  "  while  there  are  rebels  and  traitors 
at  Versailles." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  legal  government  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  they  call  themselves.  Savage  royalists 
and  imperialists  !  They  want  to  bring  France  under  the 
yoke  again.  Do  you  think  they  can  return  ?  We  will  blow 
up  the  city  first  !  "  Her  eyes  flamed  feverishly,  her  cheeks 
were  crimson. 

Deep  pity  replaced  every  other  feeling  as  Landes  watched 
this  slender  child,  his  playmate  yesterday,  shaken  by  passions 
too  fierce  for  her  strength.  He  drew  her  to  a  seat  on  the  divan 
beside  him. 

"  Listen,  Faustine.  We  are,  as  you  say,  old  friends  and 
comrades.  Until    this    cursed    outbreak    nothing    ever 

threatened  our  good  understanding.  Is  it  so  long  since  we 
shared  the  miseries  of  the  siege  together  ?  I  know  you — 
you  are  upright  and  truthful  by  nature.  You  used  to  be 
incapable  of  a  base  action.  Are  you  changed  ?  I  do  not 
believe  it,  in  spite  of  all  you  say." 

Her  face  had  been  softening  while  he  spoke,  and  now 
tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  where  you  are  going,  whose  lead  you 
are  following.  Loyal  to  your  friends,  how  can  you  be 
unfaithful  to  your  country  ?  " 

"  I  would  die  very  gladly  for  my  country,"  she  said,  with- 
out affectation. 

'  I  believe  it,  and  yet  living  you  give  your  aid  to  those  who 
will  disgrace  and  ruin  her."     She  remained  silent,  looking 


84  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

down,  the  tears  dropping  into  her  lap.  "  Tribert,  Sarre, 
Georgias,  you  approve  of  them  and  their  crimes  ?'"  She 
began  to  tremble. 

'  Oh  !  They  are  vile  ! — Monsieur  Philip  !  I  do  not 
approve  of  them  !  " 

'  Yet  they  are  officers  in  one  of  the  Commune's  battalions." 
'  They  will  be  denounced  all  the  same,  when  the  time 
comes  !  " 

'  And  until  it  comes  they  may  rob  and  murder  with 
impunity.  Is  that  your  idea  of  a  good  government,  Faus- 
tine  ?  '  He  spoke  almost  tenderly,  as  to  a  child.  She 
thrilled  at  the  change  in  his  voice  and  manner,  looked  up 
quickly,  met  only  the  firm  kindness  of  his  eyes,  and  broke 
into  hopeless  weeping. 

"  It  must  be  so,"  she  sobbed. 

Landes,  seeing  her  softened,  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his, 
and  began  the  story  of  the  last  three  days.  He  did  not  spare 
her  a  single  harrowing  detail,  and  when  he  had  finished 
she  looked  like  death.  The  moment  had  come  to  enlist  her 
aid,  and  he  made  his  request.  His  account  had  included 
the  murder  of  Count  de  Brassac,  the  events  in  the  Place 
Pigalle,  Georgias'  letter,  and  the  revelations  of  the  drunken 
corporal.  She  was  the  kind  of  girl  to  understand  that  he 
was  bound  to  find  Jeanne  de  Brassac,  and  he  made  his  appeal 
quite  simply. 

'  Help  me  to  carry  out  my  plan,  Faustine.     I  don't  know 

which  way  to  turn.     You  see  I'm  a  marked  man  myself." 

Faustine's  eyes  were  dry.     She  drew  her  hand  away  from 

Philip's  friendly  clasp,  and  sat  up.  looking  him  steadily  in 

the  face. 

"  I  will  help  you  to  find  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac,  if  I 
can.     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Get  me  a  uniform  of  the  265th  and  a  pass,  or  the  counter- 
sign." 

'  I  will  get  you  the  countersign,  and  two  uniforms — you 
must  not  go  alone.     Take  Monsieur  Ellice  with  you." 

'  The  very  thing  !     Jack  would  go  !     Will  you  do  that  ?  " 
"  Yes." 
"  When?" 
*'  Now." 

'  You  dear  girl  !  '  he  cried,  and  slipped  his  arm  about  her 
waist.     She  jumped  up,  crimson  with  anger. 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  85 

"  How  dare  you  !  '  She  threw  herself  into  a  chair, 
sobbing  bitterly  again,  her  back  turned  to  him,  her  head  on 
her  slender  wrist. 

"  I  meant  nothing,"  protested  Philip. 

"  I  know  it.  Nothing  !  Yet  you  think  I  should  endure 
your  caresses  because  I  was  a  girl  of  the  Quartier  Latin." 

"  Upon  my  honour  I  never  thought  anything  of  the  kind," 
he  cried.  "  I  only  thought  you  were  the  most  generous 
girl  in  the  world — and  the  truest  comrade.  I  never  asked 
a  kindness  of  you  yet  that  you  did  not  grant  it,  no  matter 
at  what  inconvenience  to  yourself.  There  is  no  one  alive 
that  I  would  treat  with  more  sincere  respect  than  you, 
Faustine." 

"  A  la  bonne  heure  !  "  she  laughed  nervously,  jumping  up 
with  another  of  her  rapid  changes.  "Say  no  more  about 
it.  I  shall  go  now  and  get  you  your  two  uniforms.  Look 
for  them  within  an  hour.  I  shall  find  some  means  of  getting 
them  into  Joseph's  hands  unobserved."  She  was  moving 
away  with  a  cool  business-like  air,  but  when  she  reached  the 
door  she  turned  back  and  met  Philip,  who  was  hurrying  to 
open  it  for  her. 

'  Dieu  vous  garde,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  his  face, 
"  and  do  not  forget  that  sinful  souls  are  purified  by 
love." 

"  You  are  better  than  I,"  he  stammered,  much  distressed. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  said  bitterly,  with  another  swift  change. 
"But  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  is  good  !"  All  that  was 
visible  of  her  cheek — which  had  grown  very  thin, —  of  her 
slender  neck,  burned  crimson  as  she  hurried  through  the 
open  door  and  out  across  the  garden.  At  the  entrance  to 
the  alley  Philip  heard  her  exchange  a  few  hasty  words  with 
some  one — and  the  next  moment  Jack  Ellice  rushed  into  the 
studio. 

"By  Jove  !  There  you  are  !  Faustine  says  you've  been 
on  Montmartre.     She  says  you  want  me." 

"  Yes,  I  want  your  help.  But  first  I  want  the  news — sit 
down  and  tell  me  the  situation." 

"  The  news  is  infernally  bad — and  the  situation  is  damned 
disagreeable." 

"  Yes.     I  know  that  much.     I  want  particulars — after 
wards  I'll  tell  you  the  same  story  from  my  side." 

"  Well,  first  of  all,  your  friend  of  the  Cafe  Cardinal,  Raoul 


86  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Rigault,  is  PreJet  of  Police  and  Procureur  General  to  the 
Commune." 

"  Good  Lord  !  " 

'  That's  what  I  said  when  I  read  their  infernal  order 
stuck  up  on  a  bulletin  at  the  Mayor's  office  in  the  Rue 
Bonaparte." 

"  Order  of  the  Central  Committee  ?  " 

"  Of  the  Central  Committee.  That's  awkward  for  you, 
Philip." 

'  You'll  say  so  when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you. 
But — that  young  Latin- Quarter  student — he's  younger 
than  you  are." 

"  No.     He's  twenty-eight." 

"  Well,  he's  a  failure  in  everything — in  law — in  medicine — 
and  he's  just  failed  again  at  the  Polytechnique.  A  nobody, 
without  talent.     How  did  he  get  the  appointment  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  by  being  the  biggest  blackguard  of  the  lot." 
Anyway  there  he  is,  and  a  full-fledged  demagogue  already. 
Takes  Marat  openly  for  his  model." 

"  Does  he  dare,  so  soon  ?  " 

'  I  should  think  so.  The  whole  Commune  is  mad  over  the 
First  Revolution.  Their  orators  praise  Robespierre.  You 
are  not  in  187 1,  you  are  in  the  year  79  of  liberty,  and  next 
month  will  not  be  April,  but  Germinal.  They  have  seized 
the  '  Official,'  and  are  running  it  to  suit  themselves.  All  the 
papers  suppressed  by  Thiers  have  been  revived.  All  the 
others  have  been  shut  up  tight.  And — this  is  what  looks 
blackest  of  all,"  said  Ellice,  dropping  his  voice — "  to-day 
posters  are  on  every  wall  in  Paris  decreeing  the  appointment 
of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  and  reviving  the  Law 
of  Suspects." 

"  The  Reign  of  Terror  !  " 

"  That's  what  we're  headed  for  unless  something  stops  us. 
But  it  can't  go  on,  you  know.  The  people  must  get  scared 
by  this  last  performance.  Well,  and  now  about  yourself. 
What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  How  did  you  get  up  on  Mont- 
martre,  and — how  did  you  get  down  ?  "  added  Jack,  with  a 
laugh  that  tried  to  be  like  his  old  laughs.  Then  Landes 
began  from  their  parting  in  front  of  the  Caf6  Ferdinand,  and 
told  the  story  of  the  past  three  days. 

As  an  adviser  Jack  Ellice  had  not  many^original  ideas, 
but  as  a  confidant  he  was  perfect.     He  listened  with  increas- 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  87 

ing  excitement,   and  jumped  eagerly  at  the  expedition  to 
the  Impasse  de  la  Mort. 

"  As  for  plans,"  ended  Philip,  "  how  can  I  make  any  ? 
I've  been  over  the  whole  ground  by  myself  twenty  times. 
Last  night  I  went  over  it  with  de  Carette,  carefully.  He  has 
the  clear  head  of  a  Frenchman.  Nothing  escapes  him,  and 
his  conclusion  was  the  same  as  my  own.  There  is  not  a 
peg  to  hang  a  hope  of  assistance  upon — there  is  nothing 
to  indicate  one  line  of  action  more  than  another.  All  must 
be  left  to  chance.  And  the  chances  are  against  us.  Every 
new  development  makes  the  confusion  greater.  It  seemed 
bad  enough  when  we  thought  we  had  the  government  and  the 
police  behind  us.  It  seemed  worse  when  we  found  that  the 
bottom  had  dropped  out  of  the  government.  And  now 
you  tell  me  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  is  the  govern- 
ment, and  Raoul  Rigault  is  the  police  !  I  am  Jeanne  de 
Brassac's  only  protector  at  this  crisis — and  I  am  a  marked 
man  to  the  criminals  who  have  her  in  their  power.  And  the 
same  criminals  are  in  the  chief  places  of  the  city  government. 
If  I  find  her  and  am  so  fortunate  as  to  get  her  out  of  Tribert's 
clutches,  where  shall  I  take  her?  She  ought  to  be  on  the 
road  to  Chartres  within  an  hour.  Failing  that,  she  must  hide, 
till  she  can  get  away.  Hide  where  ?  I  don't  know  a  soul 
I  dare  ask  to  receive  her.  From  something  her  lather  said 
I  fancy  they  haven't  many  friends  in  Paris,  and  those  they 
have  will  be  scattered,  no  doubt — fled  after  the  government 
and  the  army  to  Versailles." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  know  some  one,  though,"  said  Jack. 
"  Any  woman,  faithful  and  respectable  and  within  reach, 
would  be  a  god-send, — wait — wouldn't  Joseph's  wife  do  at 
a  pinch?  " 

"  Joseph  sent  his  family  into  the  country  to-day." 

"  The  devil  !  " 

"  Well,  there  it  is  — suppose  we  do  find  Jeanne  de  Brassac 
to-night,  for  instance,  in  the  Impasse  de  la  Mort.  Suppose 
we  do  effect  her  escape.  We  shall  have  to  run  for  it,  probably. 
Suppose  we  fail  to  reach  the  station, — it's  coming  from  away 
over  the  other  side  of  the  river  to  the  Gare  Montparnasse." 

"  It  isn't  guarded,"  said  Ellice. 

"  Anything  may  happen  to  head  us  off — suppose  we  fail 
then  to  reach  the  station  ?  " 

"  We  mustn't  fail  to  reach  the  station,  that's  all." 
G 


8$  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

They  sat  and  thought  awhile.     Then  Jack  said : 

"  I  think  it  behoves  you,  on  your  own  account,  to  com- 
municate with  the  American  Minister  as  soon  as  possible — 
you  can't  tell  what  nasty  trick  those  fellows  may  play  you." 
'  Yes,  with  the  house-to-house  search  going  on,  and  the 
guillotine  working  gaily  in  every  square,  and  Raoul  Rigault 
yearning  to  see  my  head  in  a  basket  of  sawdust " 

"  Oh,  come  !     What's  the  sense  of  being  ghastly  !  " 

'  I  feel  ghastly.  Your  news  has  made  me  creep.  I  feel 
queer  and  strange  as  I  used  when  I  was  a  boy  and  saw  a  pic- 
ture of  an  Incroyable.  There  was  always,  for  me,  something 
so  grotesque  and  bizarre,  so  hideously  fascinating  in  the 
Directoire  costume  ; — it  made  me  think  of  bloody  heads  on 
pikes." 

Jack  burst  out  laughing. 

"  By  Jove  !  you  are  rattled  !  Wake  up  !  What  do  you 
see  ?  Is  that  a  photograph  of  General  Grant  on  the  piano  ? 
Is  this  a  copy  of  the  '  New  York  Herald  '  with  advertise- 
ments of  A.  T.  Stewart  &  Co.  ?  Isn't  there  almost  a  century 
between  us  and  the  Reign  of  Terror  ?  " 

There  came  a  low  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Listen,"  whispered  Landes,  "  what  does  that  mean  ? 
There's  a  bell  outside.     No  one  ever  knocks." 

They  waited,  silent.  The  knocking  came  again,  low  and 
persistent. 

'  I  can't  understand,"  murmured  Landes  in  Jack's  ear, 
"  how  Joseph  could  let  in  any  one  whom  he  didn't  know." 

For  the  third  time  the  knocking  began,  low,  distinct, 
imperative. 

Landes  walked  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open.  A  little 
sallow  man,  all  in  black  save  for  a  crimson  sash  across  his 
breast,  stepped  noiselessly  into  the  room,  without  removing 
his  hat.  Two  soldiers  of  the  National  Guard  started  to  follow 
him  in,  but  he  motioned  them  out  again,  and  closed  the  door 
softly  behind  them.  Then  in  a  colourless,  husky  voice  he 
demanded  to  see  the  proprietor  of  the  apartment. 

'  I  am  the  locataire,"  said  Landes,  with  a  dull,  oppressive 
weight  in  his  heart.  "  What  do  you  want,  and  who  are 
you  ? 

"  I  am  citizen  Verlet,  charged  by  the  Chief  of  Police  to 
arrest  one  Henri  Marsy,  suspect  of  "the  Commune.  What  is 
your  name  ?  " 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  89 

"  Philip  Landes,  artist." 

"  And  this  gentleman  ?  "  looking  at  Ellice. 

"  John  D.  Ellice,  artist." 

"  Who  is  your  neighbour  in  the  studio  opposite  ?  " 

"  Moreau  Gauthier,  sculptor,"  said  Landes.  "Mr.  Ellice 
does  not  live  here.     Kindly  address  yourself  to  me." 

"  I  will  address  myself  to  whom  I  choose,"  replied  the 
little  man  in  passionless  tones.  "  Who  lives  in  the  next 
studio  beyond  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Landes,  lying  deliberately — for  he 
did  know  that  Henri  Marsy  lived  there.  So  did  Jack,  and 
immediately  had  an  inspiration. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Philip,"  he  said,  shaking  hands  with 
Landes,  and  giving  him  a  knowing  squeeze.  "  I'll  see  you 
to-morrow  then."  He  started  for  the  door.  The  little  man 
locked  it  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  !  "    cried  Landes,  angrily. 

"  This  gentleman  must  not  leave  for  the  present.  I  am 
going  to  search  your  apartment." 

"  No,  you  are  not,"  broke  in  Philip. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Commune " 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  in  whose  name  !  "  cried  Landes, 
trembling  with  wrath.  "  Get  out  of  my  place  !  "  He  started 
toward  the  sallow  man,  but  the  delegate  from  the  Commune 
was  too  quick  for  him.  Unlocking  the  door,  he  beckoned  the 
soldiers. 

"  Search  is  refused,"  he  said  impassively  ;  "  fire,  if  further 
resistance  is  offered." 

"  Try  it,  you  crop-eared  ragamuffins  !  '  shouted  Landes, 
white  with  fury.  Snatching  an  American  flag  from  the  wall 
he  flung  it  over  the  chandelier. 

"  Do  you  see  that  flag  ?  Do  you  see  me  standing  under  it  ? 
That  is  my  flag.  This  is  United  States  ground.  Outrage  it 
or  me,  if  you  dare  !  " 

The  delegate  from  the  Commune  turned  a  shade  more 
sallow,  and  stared  at  the  flag. 

"  The  American  Minister  shall  know  about  this  to-morrow," 
said  Ellice,  gravely.  "  I  must  request  your  name  again — 
what  was  it— Varlet  ?     Oh,  Verlet." 

Citizen  Verlet  grew  pale,  and  stepped  back.  He  knew 
nothing  about  alien  rights,  and  he  meant  to  conceal  his 
ignorance  if  he  could.     The  soldiers  eyed  the  flag  stupidly, 


90  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

and  fingered  their  rifles.  After  a  moment  Verlet  took  off 
his  hat,  and  bowed  to  Landes. 

"  It  is  a  mistake  ;  formal  search  will  not  be  necessary. 
No  insult  to  your  country  was  intended,  and  I  hope  the 
incident  may  be  dropped." 

Ellice  saw  his  chance,  and  stalked  furiously  out  of  the 
open  door,  demanding  a  cab  to  take  him  to  the  United 
States  Ministry. 

"  I  hope  your  friend  will  not  insist  upon  the  unfortunate 
features  of  this  mistake.  I  hope  he  will  not  go  to  his  Ex- 
cellency the  United  States  Minister,"  the  delegate  said,  very 
humbly. 

Philip  began  a  long-winded  discourse  upon  the  inviolability 
of  American  citizens,  international  treaties,  and  alien  rights, 
about  which  he  knew  no  more  than  the  man  before  him — 
but  he  kept  him  terrified,  if  not  edified,  nervously  adjusting 
his  red  sash,  the  soldiers  yawning  in  sympathy,  until  he 
heard  Jack's  step  in  the  garden,  and  knew  that  Marsy  had 
escaped.  Ellice  entered  in  a  tearing  rage — cursing  the  whole 
cab  service  of  Paris,  and  vowing  he  would  walk  to  the 
Ministr}^.  Landes  presented  the  delegate's  apologies  to 
him,  and,  after  some  difficulty,  they  were  accepted, 
and  it  ended  by  the  delegate  and  the  two  Americans  ex- 
changing profound  salutations,  and  many  compliments, 
until  the  former  backed  out,  still  bowing,  and  Landes  closed 
the  door  behind  him.  Jack  plunged  head-foremost  into  the 
cushions  of  the  divan  and  stopped  his  mouth  with  them — 
his  heels  kicking  high  and  convulsively  Landes  stood  silent 
and  troubled  until  he  heard  the  door  of  Marsy's  studio  slam, 
and  the  soldiers'  retreating  footsteps  across  the  gravel. 
Jack  uncovered  his  head  and  looked  out  from  the  cushions. 

"  Oh,  Lord  !    you  and  your  United  States  ground  !  " 

Landes  relaxed  into  a  grin.  "  You  and  your  American 
Minister  !  "   he  retorted. 

"  But  I  knew  better  and  you  didn't.  Oh,  by  Jove  ! 
'  This  is  my  flag  !  '  says  he." 

"  Well,  it  worked,  didn't  it  ?  " 

"  And  Marsy's  at  the  Gare  Montparnasse  by  this  time. 
And  the  sallow  cad  in  the  sash  didn't  know  his  government 
has  the  right  of  search  in  its  own  country  everywhere 
except  at  the  Foreign  Ministries  and  Embassies — what  a 
bluff  !  " 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  9 1 

Joseph  entered  with  a  large  parcel.  Terror  was  written 
on  every  feature.  He  glanced  in  a  grieved  manner  at  the 
laughing  faces  and  began  to  lament.  The  flight  of  Marsy 
would  cause  the  house  to  be  suspected,  and  they  gathered 
from  his  somewhat  incoherent  remarks  that,  as  father  of  a 
family,  he  objected  to  a  sudden  and  violent  death.  Landes 
comforted  him. 

'  You  are  all  right,  my  friend.  That  delegate  will  not 
want  to  talk  about  this  visit  in  a  hurry.  At  first  he  will 
be  afraid  to  tell  how  near  he  came  to  plunging  two  great 
nations  into  war — and  when  he  knows  what  a  fool  he  made 
of  himself  he  won't  want  to  tell  that.  Joseph,  are  you  for 
the  Commune  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Landes,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  hurt  expression, 
"  I  trust  I  am  in  my  senses." 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  betray  me  ?  " 

Poor  Joseph  replied  with  a  howl,  more  convincing  than 
words.  Philip,  laughing,  assured  him  he  had  only  been 
joking,  and  dismissed  him.  Then  they  opened  the  parcel. 
Ellice  looked  at  his  watch — it  was  nearly  six. 

"  Let's  get  into  these  things,"  he  said. 

The  uniforms  and  kepis  fitted  them  as  well  as  they  usually 
fitted  the  men  who  wore  them.  They  surveyed  each  other 
critically,  cocked  their  caps  at  each  other,  brushed  their 
epaulettes,  and  buckled  their  side-arms  tightly.  Landes 
went  into  his  bedroom  and  shaved  off  his  moustache.  When 
he  came  out  and  found  that  Jack  did  not  notice  the  change 
he  bitterly  lamented  the  sacrifice. 

It  was  after  six — Joseph  served  them  a  little  supper — 
and  while  they  were  eating  it  they  took  him  into  their 
confidence.  When  he  fully  understood  the  situation  his 
admiration  knew  no  bounds.  He  addressed  Philip  in  terms 
of  adoration,  and  then  began  that  habit,  which  he  kept  up 
for  months,  of  moving  about  Landes  on  tiptoe.  Unable  to 
stop  it  Landes  had  to  bear  it.  Joseph  would  neither  be 
silenced  nor  driven  away- 

'  Tenez  !     Monsieur  Philip,  you  have  a  noble  heart " 

'  For  heaven's  sake,  Joseph,  go  and  drink  yourself  to  death 
with  this  five-franc  piece,"  entreated  Landes,  but  neither 
bribes  nor  threats  had  any  effect. 

"  Charlemagne  and  Roland  are  not  in  it  with  you,  old 
chap,"  said  Ellice,  grinning  at  him  under  his  k6pi. 


92  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"Don  Quixote  is,"  said  Philip,  a  little  irritated.  "Are 
you  ready  ?  " 

'  Yes,  your  worship,  but  I  fear  this  will  be  a  worse  business 
than  windmills." 

Landes  looked  at  Jack's  laughing  face  with  compunction. 
'  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no  right  to  bring  you  into 
this.     It  isn't  your  affair.     You  are  risking  your  neck  for 
me." 

;'  No,  for  fun.  And  besides,  you  are  risking  yours  for 
Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  ;  what's  the  difference  ?  More- 
over, it  is  my  affair, — any  decent  man's  affair,  you  know." 

Philip,  divided  between  his  urgent  need  of  help  and  a 
sudden  sense  of  responsibility  for  Jack's  neck,  turned  toward 
the  door. 

Joseph  had  called  a  cab  ;  they  entered  it  and  told  the 
driver  to  go  to  the  Cafe  Blanc-bec  in  the  Faubourg  du 
Temple.  They  had  planned  to  dismiss  the  cab  there  and  stroll 
leisurely  up  the  street  to  the  Impasse  de  la  Mort. 

The  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  the  bridges,  the  quays,  were 
alive  with  National  Guards,  strolling  in  groups  or  singly. 
Their  uniforms  fitted  them  rather  worse,  on  the  whole,  than 
Jack's  and  Philip's  did  their  wearers.  "That's  all  right," 
said  Ellice,  "  but  I  hope  I  shan't  have  to  talk." 

"  Yes,  your — er — accent — but  there  are  all  sorts  of  foreign 
adventurers  in  the  Federal  ranks.     They'll  take  you  for  one.' 

"I  hope  so." 

"  Yes,  otherwise  when  you  say  '  donny  moy  ung  verre 
do '  " 

"  I  can  say  it  better  than  that,"  said  Ellice,  placidly. 

Landes  diverted  the  conversation.  "  What  has  become 
of  Ynes  Falaise,  Jack  ?  " 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  She  has  fallen  in  love  with  Archie 
Wilton." 

"  Why,  that's  the  commander  of  the  266th." 

"  Yes.  Ynes  never  cared  for  him  until  he  began  to  swag- 
ger for  the  Commune.  Like  all  French  girls  of  her  class, 
she's  a  rank  rebel — and  now  she  adores  Archie.  Pity, — 
Wilton  was  a  decent  little  chap  when  he  was  an  art  student." 

They  were  looking  at  a  brilliantly  lighted  shop  window  ; 
crowds  of  people  seemingly  without  a  care  in  the  world  were 
passing  and  repassing. 

"  The  Reicm  of  Terror  has  not  interfered  much  with  busi- 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  93 

ness  as  yet,"  Landes  said, — "  but  wait."     They  were  drawing 
near  their  destination. 

'  What  did  you  do  with  the  paper  on  which  Faustine 
wrote  the  countersign  ? 

"I  have  it." 

"  Tear  it  up,  we  know  the  word — '  Viroflay.'  " 

"Yes — Viroflay."  Landes  tore  the  paper  into  little  bits 
and  dropped  them  out  of  the  window.  The  cab  drew  up 
before  the  Cafe  Blanc-bec.  Ellice  paid,  prudently  declining 
a  battle  over  the  tip  which  the  cabby  offered  him,  and 
followed  Landes  on  to  the  terrace.  They  ordered  coffee  and 
sat  down  as  if  they  meant  to  spend  the  evening.  There  were 
not  many  people  on  the  shabby  terrace.  A  vilely  scented 
souteneur,  a  poor  girl  or  two,  but  not  a  single  uniform,  for 
which  they  thanked  their  stars.  After  a  while  the  bulky 
proprietor  came  and  surveyed  his  guests.  When  he  saw 
the  two  National  Guards  he  hailed  them  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Good-evening,    comrades.     What   battalion  ?  " 
'Two     hundred     and     sixty-fifth,"     answered     Landes, 
pleasantly,  but  at  the  same  time  he  gave  Jack  the  sign  to  move 
on. 

'  Did  you  say  the  two  hundred  and  sixty-fifth  ?  "  wheezed 
the  host. 

"  Yes, — Colonel  Tribert,"  said  Landes,  rising  slowly  and 
moving  away. 

"  Wait,  comrade,  will  you  please  take  a  message  to  my 
son  ?  You  know  him,  perhaps, — Paul  Martin,  private  in 
the  third  company." 

Landes  had  to  stop  and  wait  until  the  man  waddled  up. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  Paul  Martin." 

"  And  your  friend  ?  "  looking  at  Ellice.  Jack  shook 
his  head. 

"  Now  it  would  oblige  me  very  much  if  you  would  inquire 
for  my  son  in  the  third  company,  and  give  him  a  message 
for  me.  Ask  him  to  get  leave  for  an  hour  or  two  to-night. 
Tell  him,  Monsieur,"  here  he  stuck  his  face  into  Landes' — 
"  tell  him  at  nine  there  will  be  a  little  supper — a  few  delicacies 
— some  good  wine,  a  duck — est-ce  que  je  sais,  moi  ?  Well, 
something  better  than  camp  fare  at  least.  Will  you  ask 
him,  Monsieur  ?  " 

Landes  promised  and  started  again  to  go,  but  old  Martin 
seized  him  by  the  arm  and  poured  out  fat-voiced  thanks 


94  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

mingled  with  cries  of  joy.  "  Come  yourself,  also,  you  and 
your  comrade — mon  Dieu  ! — you  young  fellows  can  get 
two  hour:/  leave  !  Come  and  bring  the  ladies  if  you  like — 
I  don't  care.     Cre  nom  d'un  nom  il  faut  bien  qu'on  s'amuse  !  " 

To  get  away  from  him  Landes  promised  everything,  and 
the  fat  reprobate  let  him  go  as  last  in  a  shower  of  "  au 
revoirs  !  " 

"  Did  you  see  his  nose  ?  The  old  sinner  !  "  said  Ellice, 
in  disgust.  As  they  crossed  the  dirty  Canal  St.  Martin, 
Philip  begged  him  to  speak  lower  and  keep  an  eye  open  for 
sentries. 

"  We've  got  our  revolvers,"  said  Jack. 

"Yes,"  thought  Landes,  "but,  if  we  have  to  fire,  the  game's 
up.  There  ! — the  Impasse  de  la  Mort,"  he  said  aloud  ; 
"  now  keep  quiet  and  let  me  do  the  talking  if  we're 
challenged." 

"  Lord  !     You're  welcome,"  said  Jack. 

They  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the  mouth  of  a  narrow 
alley  lighted  dimly  by  a  single  oil  lamp  at  the  farther  end, 
but  no  challenge  came  from  the  darkness,  and  there  was  no 
sound  except  the  echo  of  their  own  footsteps. 

When  they  had  gone  about  a  third  of  the  way  down  the 
alley  a  door  was  flung  open  in  a  house  between  them  and  the 
gate  which  they  had  just  passed,  a  gleam  of  light  shone  out, 
and  a  babel  of  voices  filled  the  narrow  court.  Then  the  door 
was  slammed,  the  voices  ceased,  and  the  place  was  in  darkness 
again.  But  the  two  friends  had  seen  a  soldier  come  out  of 
the  door  and  walk  toward  the  entrance  of  the  alley. 

"  It's  the  sentinel  ;  he's  been  drinking  in  there  ;  that's 
why  we  were  not  challenged,"  whispered  Ellice. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Landes,  and  he  started  toward 
the  figure  now  standing  in  the  mouth  of  the  alley-     Lie  had 
almost  reached  the  sentinel  before  the  fellow  heard  him 
and   swinging   about   brought   his   rifle    awkwardly    to    the 
charge. 

"  Qui  vive  !  "   he  bellowed,  ferociously. 

"  Friends  of  the  Commune  !  " 

"  Advance  three  paces,  friend  of  the  Commune  !  " 

Phdip  obe}'ed  carelessly. 

"Halt  !" 

Ph'lip  stopped,  cocked  his  kepi,  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
poekets,  and  said  :   "Come,  come,  comrade;   not  so  much 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  95 

fuss  !     You  leave  your  post  to  get  a  drink,  and  Thiers  him- 
self might  have  passed." 

The  sentinel,  a  thick-witted  lout,  was  frightened,  and  tried 
to  hide  it  by  angrily  demanding  the  countersign. 

"  Viroflay  !  Viroflay  !  For  all  you  know  it  might  be 
Versailles  !     Really  this  indiscipline  is  disgusting." 

The  sentinel  dropped  the  butt  of  his  musket  to  the  ground 
and  stared  hard,  trying  to  see  Landes'  face  in  the  half  dark- 
ness. 

"  What's  your  battalion  ?  "  he  asked,  nervously. 

"  That's  none  of  your  business." 

"You're  not  very  polite,  comrade,"  whined  the  fellow, 
who  began  to  fear  he  had  to  do  with  an  officer  on  his  rounds 
in  private's  uniform. 

"  I'm  polite  when  I  choose  to  be.  Why  did  you  leave  your 
post  ?  " 

"  Voyons,  comrade — it  was  only  a  moment — just  a  step 
to  the  '  Bec-de-Gaz  '  there — and  this  is  very  dry  work. 
You  wouldn't  report  me  ?  " 

"  What's  your  battalion  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  265th  !  "  said  the  man,  surprised  and  sus- 
picious again. 

Philip  saw  his  slip  and  caught  himself  up. 

"  Good  !  You're  not  so  drunk  that  you  can't  tell  that  !  " 
he  said. 

"  Drunk  !  "  cried  the  sentinel,  "  when  I  only  had  a  petit 
verre  !  " 

"That  will  do.  Your  company?"  demanded  Philip, 
sternly. 

"Third,"  stammered  the  man  perplexed  and  frightened 
once  more. 

"Your  name?  " 

"  Paul  Martin." 

Landes  whistled  softly.  Then  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh 
and  clapped  the  sentinel  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  was  joking,"  he  said.  "  Don't  take  it  amiss,  comrade. 
I've  got  a  message  for  you  from  your  father." 

"  Farceur  !  "    cried  Martin,   angrily,  but  much  relieved. 
'  You  gave  me  a  fine  scare  !     How  did  I  know  but  it  was  that 
martinet  Cluseret  ?  " 

"  D — n  Cluseret  !  "  swaggered  Philip.  "  How  long  are 
you  on  duty  ?  " 


96  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Until  rrr.dnight.  The  Captain  soaked  it  to  me  for 
losing  three  buttons.     What  does  my  father  want  ?  " 

"  He  wants  you  to  get  two  hours'  liberty.  There's  a  duck, 
some  good  wine,  and  good  company  at  the  Cafe  Blanc-bec 
at  nine  o'clock." 

"  Fichtre  !     I  can't  go." 

"  Ask  the  Captain." 

'  Look  here,  my  friend,  I  see  you  don't  belong  to  the  third 
company,  or  you  would  know  that  pig-headed  Captain  Pau. 
Do  you  think  after  he's  stuck  me  with  six  hours'  extra 
sentry  he's  going  to  give  me  two  hours'  liberty  ?  What  is 
your  company,  anyway  ?  " 

Landes  ignored  the  question. 

'  I'm  sorry  you  can't  come  ;  Monsieur  Martin  invited  me, 
too." 

'  And  to  think  that  I  must  miss  it, — I  who  live  on — you 
know  what  they  choke  us  with  here  !  " 

"  Do  I  know  !  "   groaned  Philip. 

"Duck,  did  you  say?"  The  man  banged  his  rifle 
viciously  against  the  stones. 

"  Dack  and  green  peas,"  repeated  Philip,  carelessly. 

"  And  old  wine  ?  The  Beaune  that  he  drinks  himself,  no 
doubt." 

"  He  said  '  good  wine  '   and   '  tender  duck.'  " 

"  Don't,  comrade,  my  mouth  is  watering  !  " 

"  Diable  !   so  is  mine  !  "  laughed  Philip. 

The  sentinel  cursed  his  luck  so  heartily  that  Landes 
laughed  all  the  more.  Then  he  said,  pretending  to  have  a 
sudden  thought  and  coming  close  to  Martin  :  "Listen,  com- 
rade, I  believe  we  can  arrange  it,  after  all.  Where  is  the 
sentinel  in  front  of  Colonel  Tribert's  house  ?  " 

"  He  isn't  in  front  anv  more.  He's  stationed  in  the 
hallway.     Why?" 

"  Never  mind,  let  me  see, — Colonel  Tribert's  house  is — 
is " 

"  The  third  from  the  end  of  the  cul-de-sac, — on  the  right. 
Hasn't  your  company  been  on  guard  here  ?  " 

"  No — not  yet.  Well,  now  suppose  I  should  get  you  a 
substitute — would  the  Colonel  find  it  out  ?  " 

"  No — he  doesn't  know  me — and  besides,  he's  gone  away." 

"  And  your  Captain  ?  " 

"  He's  gone  too— with  the  Colonel  to  the  Hdtel  de  Ville." 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  97 

"  Then  if  I  get  someone  to  take  your  place  you  could  come 
for  an  hour  to  the  petit  souper — and  not  be  missed." 

"  Can  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  one  of  my  comrades  has  gone  into  the  Impasse  to 
see  his  girl.  He'll  stand  here  for  us,  I'll  engage,  if  we  bring 
him  a  half  bottle  and  a  wing  of  something  !  " 

"  Tiens  !   an  idea  !   Ask  him  !  " 

Philip  ran  to  where  Ellice  was  concealed  in  a  doorway, 
and  told  him  in  a  few  words  of  the  chance  that  he  had  found. 
Jack  whispered,  "  All  right  !  "  and  they  returned  together 
to  the  sentry. 

'  My  comrade,  Victor,  of  the  sixth — "  whispered  Landes 
to  Martin,  "  give  him  your  chassepot,  and  hurry." 

"  Aren't  you  coming,  too  ?  " 

"  In  ten  minutes.  I'm  going  to  fetch  a  lady — your  father 
said  I  might." 

"  Ah — c'est  9a  !  "  Martin's  coarse  voice  broke  into  a 
chuckle.  "  Then  I  won't  wait — and — I  say,  comrade — 
bring  two." 

"  If  I  can,"  said  Philip,  hiding  his  disgust,  "  now 
hurry." 

Martin  slunk  quickly  out  of  the  alley,  muttering,  "  don't 
forget,  Viroflay  is  the  word,"  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  the  Canal.  As  soon  as  he  had  vanished  Landes  turned  to 
Ellice. 

"  Jack,  Tribert  has  gone  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  His  house 
is  the  little  one  there  at  the  end  of  the  alley,  the  third  on  the 
right.  There's  a  sentry  in  the  hallway.  I'm  going  to 
reconnoitre." 

"  I'll  come,  too." 

They  walked  rapidly  toward  the  house. 

"  What  a  rat-trap,"  said  Jack,  eying  the  end  of  the 
Impasse,  which  was  a  dead  wall. 

"What's  the  use  of  saying  so  if  it  is,"  said  Landes, 
nervously. 

"  There's  the  house — and  here's  the  sentry  !  " 

"  Qui  vive  !  "  came  the  challenge,  followed  by  a  rattle 
of  accoutrements  in  the  doorway. 

"  Friends  of  the  Commune  !  " 

"  Advance  three  paces,  friends  of  the  Commune  !     Halt  !  " 

"  Hst  !  Viroflay  !  It's  all  right,"  said  Landes,  walking 
up  to  the  doorway.     "  Paul  Martin  is  in  trouble  again." 


9$  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  What's  he  done  now  ?  "  inquired  the  sentry,  leaning 
carelessly  on  his  rifle. 

'  You   know   how    the    Captain   soaked   him    about   the 
buttons  ?  " 

"  Yes,  six  hours'  extra  sentry." 

"  Well,  he's  been  found  away  from  his  post  now.  He  just 
went  into  the  '  Bec-de-Gaz  '  to  drink,  and  along  comes — 
comes " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  You  know,"  whispered  Landes,  who  was  stuck  fast. 

"  You  don't  mean  Grissot  ?  " 

"  Yes— Grissot  himself." 

"  Whew  !     Poor  Paul  !     What  did  old  Grissot  do  ?  " 

"  Come  in  and  I'll  tell  you,"  and  Landes  walked  into  the 
house  with  a  swagger  and  a  cock  of  his  kepi  that  would  have 
carried  conviction  in  any  Federal  battalion.  Ellice  followed 
in  the  same  fashion,  and  they  entered  a  big  bare  office,  lighted 
by  a  single  candle. 

'  Wait  !  "     cried    the   sentry,    a   beardless    youth,    with 
prominent  eyes  and  retreating  chin,  "  you  can't  go  in  there." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  laughed  Philip,  "  have  you  got  any- 
thing to  eat  ?  " 

"  No,  but  there's  a  bottle  of  cognac  in  that  closet — if 
you'll  wait  till " 

"Can't  wait." 

"  If  the  Colonel  comes " 


"  Oh,  he  won't  come — let's  have  a  drink,"  said  Landes, 
coming  nearer  with  a  glance  at  Ellice,  who  was  watching  him. 
"  Hello  !  What's  wrong  with  your  rifle  ?     Is  that  the  way — " 

"  What  ?  What  ?  "  said  the  sentry,  looking  down  at  it. 
Landes  tripped  him  up  and  held  his  mouth  closed  while 
Ellice  jerked  the  rifle  out  of  his  hands. 

"  Tear  up  that  curtain,  Jack — quick — the  fool  is  trying  to 
bite  me."  In  a  minute  the  astonished  sentry  had  his  mouth 
stuffed  with  a  ball  of  cloth,  a  band  about  his  face  to  keep  it  in 
and  strong  bandages  around  both  ankles  and  both  arms. 

"  Fine  troops,  these  Federals,"  laughed  Landes  ;  "  we'd 
better  go  on  and  capture  the  city.  Quick,  let's  get  him  into 
that  closet." 

"  There  he  goes  !  " 

"  Good  !     Lock  him  in  !  " 

Jack  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  99 

"  Hark  !  What's  that  ?  "  he  said  as  a  door  opened  and  a 
voice  sounded  on  the  floor  above.  They  crept  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  and  listened,  then  mounted  silently. 

"  Keep  out  of  sight,"  Landes  motioned.  They  had  reached 
the  landing  and  Philip,  who  was  first,  could  see  into  the  room 
whose  door  stood  open.  He  looked  and  drew  back  with  a 
face  that  made  Jack's  blood  run  cold.  Putting  his  mouth 
close  to  Ellice's  ear,  Landes  whispered,  "  Tribert  is  there." 

The  voice  was  plain  enough  now — and  the  words  were 
perfectly  audible  to  both  listeners. 

"  What  are  you  whining  about  ?  "  growled  Tribert,  address- 
ing someone  in  an  inner  room.  "  It's  your  own  fault.  I've 
told  you  what  I  would  do,  and  it's  more  than  anybody  else 
would  do  for  you."  There  was  no  reply.  Landes  saw  him 
pick  up  a  sword  from  a  camp-stool  and  attach  it  to  his  clasp. 
Then  he  took  a  brace  of  revolvers  from  the  mantle,  thrust 
them  into  his  belt,  and  turned  again  to  the  invisible  occupant 
of  the  next  room. 

"  No  more  whining,  I  say.  If  you  want  to  go  home  to 
Tours,  I  tell  you  I'll  send  you  there  safely,  but  only  on  that 
condition.  As  for  this  scarlet  and  black  dandy  in  spurs,  he's 
going  to  stay  here." 

"  Then  I  shall  stay,  too,"  came  the  answer  in  a  clear  sweet 
voice,  ringing  with  defiance. 

Tribert  made  an  ominous  gesture. 

"  Be  careful,  you  two  !  I'm  going  now  to  the  Hdtel  de 
Ville.  If  you  want  to  get  safely  to  Tours,  Madame,  you  will 
persuade  your  fellow  aristocrat  to  hear  reason.  If  he  does 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  accept  my  proposition  before  I  leave 
this  room,  it  will  be  bad  for  both  of  you.  Yes,  boih — do  you 
hear  me,  Captain  de  Carette  ?  " 

Philip's  heart  leaped  into  his  throat.  He  reached  back 
and  clutched  Jack,  who  nodded  that  he  had  heard. 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  then  Alain's  voice,  cool  and 
contemptuous  : 

"  I  was  not  paying  attention.     What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said,"  roared  Tribert,  "  that  you  had  better  decide  now. 
The  Commune  has  voted  the  Law  of  Suspects.  If  Raoul 
Rigault  catches  you,  it  means  a  file  of  men — and  a  dead  wall 
for  you.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  offer  you  command  of  a 
battalion." 

"  Oh  !    a— battalion  ?  " 


100  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

•'  Of  Turcos." 

"  Turcos  ?  " 

"I  said  so." 

"  Ah  !    Turcos  from  Belleville  ?  " 

"  How  reckless,"  thought  Landes,  "  to  prod  a  wild  beast 
when  you  are  in  his  den  !  "  The  sullen  roar  began  to  sound 
again  in  Tribert's  voice — but  he  restrained  himself.  The 
hope  of  securing  a  regular  officer  and  an  aristocrat  for  the 
Commune's  army  was  worth  some  self-restraint. 

"  Well,  and  what  have  you  against  Turcos  from  Belleville, 
Monsieur  the  Aristocrat  ?  The  battalion  is  formed — we'll  see 
which  will  fight  the  best,  when  it  is  face  to  face  with  your 
yellow  monkeys  from  Algiers.  Will  you  command  it  or 
no?" 

"  Do  you  mean  will  I  turn  traitor  to  save  myself  ?  " 

"  Answer  me  !  "  snarled  Tribert. 

"  I  must  trouble  you  to  loosen  this  rope  a  little  first  ;  it's 
too  tight.  Torture  isn't  included,  as  yet,  in  the  procedure  of 
the  Commune,  is  it  ?  " 

"  He'll  give  it  an  extra  twist  for  that,"  thought  Landes  ; 
"  why  will  Alain  be  so  foolish  ?  "  and  he  remembered  how  he 
had  flung  a  haughty  affront  in  the  face  of  the  ex-valet  on 
Montmartre.  "  He  won't  get  off  this  time,"  Landes  thought, 
with  a  sinking  heart.  But  Tribert,  after  a  second's  hesita- 
tion, tramped  into  the  next  room,  and  his  voice  was  heard 
saying  : 

"  Which  rope  ?    Oh,  this  ?  " 

"  Not  that  way, — you  tighten  it  !  " 

A  pause. 

"  You  find  that  painful  ?  "  growled  Tribert. 

"  Very,"  answered  Alain,  drily. 

"  Well,  you  know  how  to  escape  these  little  annoyances. 
Listen  to  me,  once  for  all  ;  if  the  Versailles  troops  see  Turcos 
on  our  side,  commanded  by  a  regular  officer,  they  will  desert 
to  us.  That  is  why  we  want  you  !  This  is  your  chance. 
Under  the  Commune,  promotion  ; — you  can  become  what 
you  will.  If  you  refuse,  we  shall  sweep  Thiers  and  his 
traitors  into  the  Seine  all  the  same,  and  you " 

"  Tribert,"  said  de  Carette,  with  insulting  omission  of  the 
Colonel,  "  if  I  live  to  catch  you  outside  of  this  place  I  will 
have  you  shot  for  attempting  to  corrupt  the  Line."  There 
was  a  short  silence,  then  a  blow  and  a  fall. 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORI  10 1 

"  Shame  !  "  cried  a  faint  voice,  the  voice  of  a  woman  ; 
"  shame  on  you  !  " 

"  Now  for  it  !  "  panted  Landes,  drawing  his  revolver  ; 
"  now,  Jack  !  "  and  they  stole  into  the  outer  room. 

"  Here  he  comes,"  whispered  Ellice. 

Tribert  appeared  in  the  inner  doorway,  saw  them,  opened 
his  mouth  to  shout,  tried  to  seize  his  revolver,  and  fell  to  the 
floor  with  a  queer  choking  gasp.  Landes  had  struck  him  full 
in  the  face  with  the  butt  of  his  pistol.  Before  he  had  time 
to  fall,  Philip  struck  him  again,  savagely,  full  on  the  temple. 
Then  he  measured  his  length  on  the  floor. 

"  Go  in,  Jack,  I  daren't  leave  this  beast  yet." 

Jack  sprang  into  the  second  room,  while  Landes  seized 
Tribert  by  the  legs  and  dragged  him  into  a  small  room  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  By  the  dim  light  from  the  hall  he  un- 
wound Tribert's  sash,  twisted  it  into  a  rope  and  bound  him 
hand  and  foot  as  tightly  as  he  could  draw  the  knots.  Then 
he  took  a  small  towel  from  the  washstand,  rolled  it  into  a  ball, 
stuffed  it  into  the  unconscious  man's  mouth,  tied  it  on  with 
strips  torn  from  another  towel,  and  opened  a  window  to  let 
in  fresh  air.  "  I  ought  to  let  him  smother,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  slipped  out,  locked  the  door,  pocketed  the  key,  and 
hurried  back  to  find  the  prisoners.  As  he  stepped  into  the 
outer  room,  a  tatteied  and  bloody  object  seized  and  hugged 
him. 

"  De  Carette  !  You  here  !  "  was  all  Landes  could  trust  his 
voice  to  say.  Keeping  hold  of  Alain,  who  seemed  almost  to 
lean  on  him,  Landes  turned  to  the  inner  room.  There  stood 
Ellice  bending  over  a  young  lady  who  sat  on  a  lounge, 
trembling,  but  holding  up  her  head  and  gazing  resolutely 
into  his  face. 

Landes  stepped  to  her  side. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Brasssac,"  he  said,  "  don't  distrust  us 
because  of  our  uniforms.  We  have  come  to  get  you  away 
from  here." 

The  young  lady  transferred  her  timid  but  unflinching  gaze 
to  Philip's  face.  She  seemed  bewildered.  De  Carette  drew 
him  away,  saying,  with  a  queer  laugh  : 

"  That  is  not  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac.  She  is  locked  in 
another  room.     I'll  show  you.     Come." 

"  For  God's  sake,  hurry  !  "  cried  Landes.  Alain  tried  to 
follow,  but  stumbled  and  leaned  on  his  friend. 


102  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  That  rope  was  tight,"  he  muttered.  Philip  supported 
him  while  he  led  the  way  up  two  steps,  down  a  short  narrow 
entry,  to  a  closed  door. 

"  We  shall  have  to  break  it  in,"  he  said,  and  gathered  what 
remained  of  his  strength  tor  one  more  effort.  Together  they 
threw  themselves,  full  weight,  against  the  door  ;  it  gave  way, 
crashing  and  splintering,  and  sent  them  head  foremost  into 
the  room. 

Shocked  at  having  entered  in  such  a  manner,  Landes  drew 
himself  up  and  stood  stiffly  near  the  shattered  door.  There 
was  an  unshaded  lamp  on  a  table.  Beside  it  stood  a  young 
girl,  motionless.  Her  beautiful  eyes,  dilated  with  fear  and 
courage,  looked  black  in  the  half  light,  her  white  face  was 
calm,  one  delicate  hand  rested  easily  on  the  table. 

There  was  no  mistake  this  time.  Philip  would  have  known 
her  among  a  million.  Jeanne  de  Brassac  had  grown  to  be  a 
woman.  Her  fair  hair  gathered  back  from  the  full  temples, 
her  sweet  eyes,  the  curve  of  her  lips,  and  above  all  that  soft 
little  hand  resting  quietly,  just  as  it  rested  on  her  mother's 
arm  so  long  ago. 

"What  do  you  wish,  Messieurs?  "  she  said,  as  if  their 
appearance  had  been  quite  regular. 

"  I — I  am  Philip  Landes"  he  stammered. 

"  Philip  Landes  !  "  she  cried,  and  her  startled  eyes  looked 
into  his. 

De  Carette  had  somehow  regained  his  feet.  His  clothes 
were  torn  and  bloody,  his  face  was  ghastly  pale,  his  voice 
scarcely  audible  ;  but  he  came  forward  and  made  her  a  bow 
with  perfect  grace. 

"  My  name  is  Alain  de  Carette,  Captain  of  Artillery  in  the 
regular  army,  taken  this  morning  at  the  St.  Lazare  Station 
by  the  Federals,  and  a  fellow  prisoner  with  you  in  this  house 

all  day "  he  hesitated — "there  is  a  lady,  too  " — then  went 

on  hurriedly — "  and  this,  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac,  is  Philip 
Landes,  your  brother's  friend,  who  risks  his  life  to  save  yours." 

With  an  exquisite  gesture  Jeanne  de  Brassac  held  out  her 
hand  to  Landes.  "  That  is  what  my  father  said  you  would 
do,  Monsieur " 

"  We  must  hurry,"  said  de  Carette  in  the  ghost  of  a  voice, 
"  if  we  are  to  get  away  from  here,"  and  led  the  way  back  to 
the  room  where  Ellice  stood,  seemingly  oblivious  of  surround- 
ings, in  delighted  attendance  on  the  bewildered  and  haughty 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  103 

young  lady,  who,  when  she  saw  another  woman,  ungratefully 
said,  "  God  be  praised  !  "  and  went  to  meet  Jeanne  without 
giving  Jack  a  glance. 

"  Madam — Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc,"  said  de  Carette, 
"  this  is  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac.  We  have  not  one  moment 
to  lose.     Will  you  come,  ladies  ?     Philip,  will  you  lead  ?  ' 

'  You  can't  go  out  that  way.     Your  uniform ' 

'  I'm  not  going  with  you.     I  shall  wait  till  you  get  clear." 
'  You  think  we  would  go  and  leave  you  ?     There — take 
my  overcoat,  and  Tribert's  cap  is  on  the  landing  outside." 

"  That  is  a  private's  overcoat — take  this."  Jeanne  de 
Brassac  caught  a  Federal  officer's  overcoat  from  a  peg  on 
the  wall. 

Ellice  helped  Alain  on  with  it ;  Landes  brought  Tribert's 
cap.  "  Now  you  are  perfect.  Will  you  lead  the  way  ? 
We  may  meet  a  sentry  after  all." 

The  ladies  had  caught  up  their  wraps  and  concealed  their 
faces  in  them. 

Not  a  soul  was  stirring  in  the  Impasse  de  la  Mort  as  they 
emerged  from  Tribert's  headquarters. 

Silently  they  moved  toward  the  entrance.  The  sentry  had 
not  returned  and  his  absence  had  not  been  discovered.  They 
were  cautiously  stepping  out  into  the  Faubourg  du  Temple 
when  they  met  Martin  face  to  face.  He  was  accompanied  by 
a  file  of  soldiers,  but  he  was  too  drunk  to  care,  and  chanted 
in  a  low  sentimental  voice  : 

"  Oh,  take  me  to  my  love  ! 
Oh,  take  me  to  my  love  ! 
Oh  (hie  !),  take  me  to  my  (hie  !) — " 

"  The  game's  up  !  "  muttered  Ellice,  "  here's  Martin."  At 
the  same  moment  Martin  discovered  Landes  and  yelled  with 
delight. 

"  Fine  dinner,  good  wine,  mon  vieux  !  "  he  shouted,  "  never 
had  better.     Ladies,  you  are  too  late  !  " 

"  Silence  !  "  commanded  de  Carette,  sternly  ;  then  with  a 
haughty  gesture  to  the  officer  in  charge,  "  Halt  !  Lieutenant, 
what  do  you  mean  by  permitting  a  drunken  soldier  to  insult 
an  officer  accompanied  by  ladies  ?  " 

The  moment  was  critical.  The  lieutenant  had  barred  the 
way  and  was  motioning  his  men  to  close  in,  but  this  attack 
frightened  him.  He  saw  the  four  gold  bands  on  de  Carette's 
B 


104  ™E    RZD    REPUBLIC 

cap,  and  although  in  that  dim  light  it  was  impossible  to 
distinguish  features,  yet  Alain's  bearing  of  superior  officer 
was  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  the  cold  authuritv  of  his 
tone  made  the  young  lieutenant  shiver.  He  stuttered  and 
stammered  and  saluted  obsequiously,  but  froze  stiff  when 
Landes,  seeing  the  impression  already  made,  quietly  stepped 
to  Alain's  side,  saluted  with  much  deference,  and  said  some- 
thing in  a  voice  too  low  to  be  heard,  excepting  the  word 
"  Cluseret,"  which  he  caused  to  reach  the  lieutenant's  startled 
ears.  Alain  nodded  curtly  to  Philip  and  turned  again  to  the 
Federal  officer. 

"  Report  to  your  captain  and  consider  yourself  under 
arrest  !  Sergeant,  take  that  drunkard  to  the  guard-house. 
Thirty  days'  police  cell.  Set  two  sentries  at  the  gate  and 
allow  no  one  to  leave  the  Impasse  until  you  have  my  orders. 
Why  is  there  no  sentry  in  front  of  Colonel  Tribert's  head- 
quarters ?  Set  two  there  at  once  and  let  no  one  enter  or  leave 
the  house  until  you  have  the  order  from  General  Cluseret. 
By  heaven  !  I'll  bring  this  battalion  under  discipline  or  I'll 
disband  it.     March  !  " 

Like  a  flock  of  sheep  the  detachment  crowded  into  the 
Impasse,  and  the  little  party  of  fugitives  hurried  away  toward 
the  Canal  St.  Martin. 

Landes  and  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  walked  first ;  Ellice 
came  next  with  the  silent,  frightened  stranger  on  his  arm  ; 
de  Carette  brought  up  the  rear.  The  street  was  not  well 
lighted,  but  there  were  many  people  passing,  and  now  and 
then  some,  keener-sighted  and  more  curious  than  the  rest, 
would  stop  and  stare  back  at  them  ;  sometimes  these  would 
speak  to  others  who  also  turned  and  stared. 

When  this  had  happened  several  times  Alain  joined  Philip. 
"  We  are  attracting  attention,  our  party  is  too  large,"  he 
whispered. 

"  Yes,  I  see.     I'm  afraid  we  must  separate." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  de  Carette. 

"  Why,  as  we  decided  last  night  at  the  War  Ministry,  to 
the  Montparnasse  Station.  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  must 
be  on  her  way  to  Chartres  within  an  hour,  if  possible." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  possible." 

"  But  the  Montparnasse  Station  is  not  guarded.  Ellice 
says  so." 

"  It  was  not  guarded  at  noon,  but  who  knows  what  may 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  105 

have  been  done  by  this  time  ?     I  would  not  dare  venture  if 
I  were  you." 

"  What  in  the  world  can  we  do  then  ?    Where  can  she  go  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  tins  isn't  the  time  to  choose,  if  there  were 
any  choice,  but  there  isn't,"  began  Alain. 

Ellice  interrupted,  pressing  forward  with  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Brieuc  :  "  Philip,  do  you  see  how  the  people  are  staring  ? 
We've  got  to  separate,  and  the  sooner  the  better  !  " 

"  Captain  de  Carette  thinks  the  Gare  Montparnasse  may  be 
guarded  by  this  time,"  said  Landes. 

"  Then  give  that  up,"  urged  Ellice.  "  You  take  a  cab  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  ;  we'll  walk  on  a  little  and  take 
another  ;  we  three,  then,  all  make  for  my  studio,  by  different 
routes." 

"  Why  not  for  mine  ?  " 

"  Mine  is  nearer,  and  safer,  because  it  is  mine.  Rigault 
and  Company  don't  know  me  as  well  as  they  do  you." 

"  Monsieur's  advice  is  excellent,"  said  de  Carette,  in  a  faint 
voice.     "  Will  you  call  a  cab,  Philip  ?  " 

'  Alain,  dear  old  fellow,  you  are  suffering  ?  "  whispered 
Philip,  while  Jack  hurried  off  in  the  direction  of  a  cab-stand. 
Alain  leaned  against  his  friend  without  answering.  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac  gently  begged  to  know  if  he  was  badly 
hurt;   the  other  lady  trembled  violently,  but  did  not  speak. 

A  cab  stopped  beside  them.  Jack  sprang  out  and  waited 
for  Philip,  but  he  turned  to  de  Carette.  "  We  will  follow  you 
immediately,  Alain."  De  Carette  drew  himself  up  with  an 
effort,  bowed,  and  motioned  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  to 
enter.  She  glanced  at  him,  hesitated,  and  obeyed.  He 
followed  her  inside  and  then  quietly  fainted  away.  Ellice 
sprang  after  him,  Landes  gave  the  driver  hasty  directions, 
and  came  and  leaned  in  at  the  window. 

"  Is  he  very  ill  ?  Why,  he's  all  over  fresh  blood.  He's 
been  shot  in  the  body  somewhere  !  "  Then  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Brieuc  seemed  to  throw  off  her  stupor,  and  turning  to 
Ellice  said  :  "he  was  shot  in  the  shoulder  this  morning  at  the 
Gare  St.  Lazare  where  they  killed  my  uncle.  I  know  a  little 
about  surgery.  If  you  can  take  him  to  a  safe  place  I  can 
help  care  for  him  !  " 

"  Good  !  "  said  Ellice  ;  '  Philip,  tell  the  man  to  drive  on. 
Join  us  as  soon  as  possible,  at  my  place." 

The  cab  rolled  away.     Landes  and  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac 


106  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

were  left  standing  alone  in  the  Faubourg  du  Temple.  He 
glanced  down  at  her  quiet  face  and  offered  his  arm.  She  took 
it  with  simple  confidence,  and  they  walked  away  together. 
Turning  at  the  first  corner  they  entered  a  dark  side-street, 
going  slowly  at  first,  but  hurrying  as  soon  as  they  dared.  Her 
step  was  light  and  firm,  her  hand  rested  on  his  arm  like  a 
feather,  and  she  breathed  easily  in  spite  of  their  rapid  pace. 

"  Are  you  tired  ? — and  frightened  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they 
approached  a  lighted  Boulevard. 

"  No.     Are  we  in  any  danger  now  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.     I  think  the  worst  is  over.     We  will  take  a 

cab  just  beyond  that  lamp,  and "     His  tongue  clove  to 

the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

Rao itl  Rigault  was  walking  at  his  elbow. 

He  saw  the  small  eyes  blinking  through  the  glasses,  the 
coarse  red  lips,  moist  and  venomous  under  the  beard,  and 
with  all  his  strength  he  struck  him.  Once,  twice,  he  felt  the 
impact  of  his  clenched  fist  on  that  hideous  face,  then  he  heard 
cries  and  shouts,  the  noise  of  feet,  and  clamour  of  voices  ;  his 
hand  was  seized  and  he  found  himself  running,  drawn  along 
by  Jeanne  de  Brassac,  who  sped  lightly  at  his  side,  her  fingers 
tightly  clasped  in  his.     Behind  was  the  noise  of  pursuit. 

"  Turn  here  !  "  he  breathed,  and  they  swung  into  a  long 
dark  alley,  traversed  it,  and  entered  another.  "  Turn 
here  !  "  he  repeated,  and  they  were  in  a  narrow,  squalid 
street,  where  they  had  to  stop  running  and  pick  their  way 
through  mire.  The  shouts  behind  them  seemed  drawing 
nearer.  They  reached  a  broader  street,  fairly  well  lighted 
and  cleaner,  but  almost  deserted,  and  dashed  recklessly 
through  it.  Into  a  dark  street  again, — he  did  not  know 
where,  he  was  lost  for  the  moment, — dark,  narrow,  and 
interminable,  he  could  hear  his  heart  beating  and  her  skirts 
flapping  in  the  March  wind,  as  she  ran  beside  him,  her  hand 
closely  clasped  in  his. 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  "  he  faltered. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  she  panted,  and  she  increased  her  pace. 
They  came  to  an  open  square. 

"  We  must  walk  now,"  said  Landes. 

They  listened  ;    the  pursuit  seemed  falling  off. 

"  They  must  have  gone  another  way.  Oh,  for  a  cab,  while 
there  is  time  !  "  he  groaned,  freeing  his  eyes  from  the  sweat 
that  rolled  into  them  from  his  hair,  and  peering  across  the 


THE    IMPASSE    DE    LA    MORT  I07 

square.  "  There  !  I  think  I  saw  one  !  "  and  he  crossed  over, 
forcing  himself  and  Jeanne  to  walk  slowlv. 

"  A  u  large  !  A  u  large  !  on  ne  passe  pas  !  "  came  from  the 
street  they  were  approaching,  and  the  Commune's  pickets 
took  it  up  along  the  square. 

"  A  barricade  !    Come  !  "  and  he  bore  due  west  once  more. 

To  reach  Ellice's  studio,  in  the  Rue  de  Sfax,  it  was  necessary 
to  go  north.  Again  and  again  when  they  tried  to  cross  in  that 
direction  they  were  stopped  by  the  warning  challenge  and 
the  rattle  of  bayonets. 

"  The  city  is  cut  in  two  !  I  don't  know  how  to  reach  the 
Rue  de  Sfax  from  here  ;  the  barricades  block  us,  and  we 
dare  not  go  back  to  the  Boulevards." 

"  What  can  we  do  then  ?  "  she  asked,  with  just  the 
slightest  break  in  her  voice.     He  stopped,  full  of  pity. 

"  But  please  don't  think  I  am  complaining  !  "  she  said 
quickly.  "  I  am  not  afraid,  I  trust  you  implicitly,  and  I  am 
not  tired  either." 

In  miserable  helplessness  he  gazed  about  him.  There  was 
but  one  route  open.  Toward  the  north  barricades  closed 
every  outlet,  but  the  west  was  clear  as  far  as  he  could  see. 

"  I  think  we  could  reach  mv  studio," — he  hesitated, — 
"  but— if " 

"  I  will  be  very  grateful  to  you,  Monsieur,"  said  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac. 

"  Then  we  must  look  for  a  cab  on  the  quay,"  and  giving 
her  his  arm  once  more,  he  cautiously  approached  the  river. 
"  If  Raoul  Rigault's  spies  have  found  out  where  I  live,"  he 
thought,  "  the  quays  will  be  watched.  That  may  be  the 
reason  why  the  pursuit  fell  off."  With  his  heart  in  his 
mouth,  therefore,  he  made  his  way  to  a  long  line  of  cabs, 
selected  one  and  hailed  the  driver. 

"  Can  you  get  us  through  the  barricades  to  the  Rue  de 
Sfax  ?  " 

The  cabby  shook  his  head.  "  Not  for  all  your  money, 
Monsieur,"  he  grinned. 

"  Very  well.     Then  70  Rue  Notre-Dame.     Drive  fast  !  " 


108  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

CHAPTER    VIII 

Hemmed  In 

It  was  midnight  when  the  cab  drew  up  before  the  ivy- 
covered  alley  which  leads  past  the  porter's  lodge  to  the  white- 
walled  garden  and  Landes'  studio.  Joseph  answered  the 
gate  bell,  stared  an  instant,  and,  quickly  comprehending, 
received  them  with  devotion. 

"  We  were  separated  from  Mr.  Ellice  and  the  rest,  and  the 
barricades  cut  us  off  from  Mr.  Ellice's  studio — so  we  had  to 
come  here,"  said  Landes. 

"  Bon  !  Monsieur  Philip,"  replied  Joseph,  and  followed 
reverentially,  as  the  young  man  led  his  guest  between  the  ivy- 
hung  walls,  into  the  glimmering  garden,  and  across  to  the 
studio  door. 

"  It  is  very  dark,"  said  Landes,  entering  first  and  drawing 
the  shade  from  the  glass  roof  to  the  extension,  to  let  in  a  bit  of 
palely  lighted  midnight  sky.  "  Please  stand  still  a  moment 
— now  give  me  your  hand."     And  he  guided  her  to  a  chair. 

The  concierge  lighted  a  lamp,  set  a  match  to  the  fire,  and 
departed,  saying  to  Philip  as  he  passed  him  that  he  would 
bring  hot  water  for  tea. 

"  Thank  you,  Joseph,"  said  Philip,  in  a  low  voice,  and  the 
faithful  one  withdrew  on  tiptoe. 

The  lamp-light  filled  one  side  of  the  studio  with  a  warm 
glow,  leaving  the  other  side  full  of  shadow.  In  the  fireplace 
little  blue  flames  and  thin  spirals  of  smoke  were  curling  up. 
Jeanne  de  Brassac  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  closed  eyes 
and  white  face.  Philip  stood  and  looked  at  her.  As  he 
realized  the  unsuitableness  of  her  surroundings,  the  colour 
flashed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  But  there  was  no  time  for 
reflection  ;  Joseph  came  in  again,  bringing  a  tea-kettle  and 
an  alcohol  lamp,  and  the  duties  of  a  host  became  imperative. 

While  the  tea  was  being  made  and  drunk,  Joseph,  stopping 
now  and  then  to  exchange  a  murmured  word  with  Landes, 
was  passing  quickly  and  quietly  up  and  down  a  quaint  stair- 
case with  a  carved  wooden  balustrade  which  led  from  the 
lower  end  of  the  studio  up  to  a  small  landing  and  a  door. 
Presently  his  journeyings  ceased,  and  with  a  bow  full  of 
fatherly  kindness  and  profound  respect  to  the  young  lady,  he 


HEMMED    IN  I09 

said,  "Good-night,  Monsieur  Philip,"  and  disappeared. 
Then  Landes  turned  timidly  to  his  guest. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  regret  exceedingly  that  it  was  impossible 
for  us  to  join  the  others  at  Mr.  Ellice's  studio — but  at  least 
you  are  safe  here — for  a  day  or  two,  until  we  can  find  an 
opportunity  for  your  escape  to  Chartres.  There  is  a  room  at 
the  head  of  that  staircase  which  I  beg  to  place  at  your 
disposal.  I  shall  be  below  here,  in  the  room  yonder,  or  else 
in  this  room.  You  can  rest  peacefully,  for  Joseph  and  I  will 
keep  watch.  I  cannot  express,"  he  added  in  a  voice  of  deep 
feeling,  "  my  sense  of  the  unfitness  of  this  place,  and  my  regret 
that  it  is  all  I  have  to  offer  you." 

Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  The 
lamp-light  shone  full  in  her  violet  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to 
Philip  ;  her  face  was  white  with  the  pallor  of  physical  and 
mental  exhaustion,  and  she  drooped  a  little  as  she  stood. 
Her  bearing  combined  the  exquisite  docility  of  a  convent- 
bred  girl  with  the  dignity  of  a  very  young  lady.  "  It  seems 
to  me,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  that  it  is  I  who  shall  never  be 
able  to  express  my  gratitude.     May  I  go  to  my  room  now  ?  " 

Landes  took  up  a  lighted  candle  and  asked  diffidently  if  he 
might  show  her  the  way.  She  thanked  him  and  followed  up 
the  stair.  He  could  feel  her  lean  wearily  on  the  balustrade, 
and  hear  her  little  tired  feet  drag.  He  paused  on  the  landing 
for  her  to  join  him,  and  then,  opening  the  door,  stood  aside 
for  her  to  enter.  A  glow  and  crackle  of  wood  fire  from  the 
hearth  came  out,  and  the  setter  puppy  rushed  frantically 
forward,  seizing  her  dress.  Jeanne  uttered  a  cry  and  stooped 
toward  him  :  the  large  yellow  cat  rose  on  the  bed  opposite, 
stretched,  and  blinked.  "  Oh,  Tcherka  !  Tcherka  !  "  cried 
the  girl,  stepping  swiftly  forward,  and  took  the  cat  in  her 
arms.  Then  she  sank  down  sobbing  beside  the  bed,  Landes 
set  the  light  on  a  table  and  went  away,  closing  the  door 
softly. 

The  long  strain  had  told.  At  the  sight  of  those  helpless 
creatures  the  last  remnant  of  her  courage  broke  down  ;  she 
lay  with  her  face  buried  in  Tcherka's  soft  fur,  and  gave  way 
to  bitter  grief  for  her  dead  father. 

Landes,  standing  in  the  studio  below,  listened  to  her 
desolate  weeping  as  long  as  he  could  bear  it,  then,  with  his 
own  eyes  full  of  tears,  he  caught  up  his  hat  and  went  to  find 
the  concierge. 


110  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Joseph  was  fussing  about  the  gate  with  a  lantern.  A  late 
half-moon  had  risen  just  above  the  house-tops. 

"  Joseph  !  "  said  Landes,  irritably,  stamping  along  the 
walk.  "  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  ?  Go  to  bed  !  '  The 
faithful  one  circled  respectfully  around  Landes  and  touched 
his  cap. 

"  You  walk  like  an  eagle  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  !  "  said 
Landes,  with  a  nervous  laugh  ;  "  stop  it  and  tell  me  what 
you  are  doing  here  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  !  " 

"  Monsieur  Philip,  I  was  fixing  a  padlock  on  the  gate.  The 
street  below  near  the  Rue  Vavin  is  full  of  soldiers.  Hark  ! 
do  you  hear  the  sound  of  the  picks  ?  " 

An  icy  chill  ran  down  Landes'  spinal  column.  '  What  are 
they  doing  with  picks  ?  " 

"  Making  a  barricade  ;  a  fine  one,  you  can  see  them  from 
the  middle  of  the  street.  They  are  down  by  the  convent, 
just  around  the  curve.  Listen  !  "  Through  the  silence 
came  the  sharp  clink  !  clink  !  of  steel  pick-axes  striking 
granite  ;  and  while  he  listened  to  that,  another  sound  began 
and  increased — the  distant  noise  of  an  approaching  throng. 
Nearer  it  came  and  nearer,  and  now  he  could  distinguish  the 
measured  cadence  of  marching  feet,  the  short,  sharp  clank 
of  trailing  scabbards,  and  the  rumble  of  artillery. 

"  Put  out  that  light  !  They  are  coming  up  this  street  !  " 
Joseph  obeyed  in  silence.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the 
clanking,  jangling  cannon,  the  trample  of  horses,  the  jingle  of 
bit  and  spur,  until  the  echoes  awoke  among  the  opposite 
houses,  and  the  whole  air  vibrated  with  the  clash  of  steel. 

A  shadowy  figure  rode  straight  up  the  street,  horse  and 
rider  pale  in  the  moonlight ;  another  rider  followed,  then  two 
more,  then  three,  then  a  dozen,  and  still  they  came,  shrouded 
in  heavy  cloaks,  their  long  sabres  hanging  straight  down 
behind  their  spurred  boots,  clouds  of  frost}'  steam  streaming 
from  nostril  and  flank. 

Cannon  were  passing,  too,  pieces  of  seven,  long  and  wicked, 
mitrailleuses,  shapeless  dark  lumps  on  wheels,  with  queer 
little  toy  caissons  trailing  behind. 

Along  the  sidewalk  shuffled  the  insurgent  infantry,  thin 
men  with  hollow  eyes  that  turned  in  their  sockets  like  those 
of  the  very  sick  or  insane. 

Before  the  rear-guard  had  passed,  the  ominous  clank  of 
pick-axes  and  crowbars  was  renewed,  but  this  time  it  came 


HEMMED    IN  III 

from  the  head  of  the  column,  which  seemed  to  have  reached 
the  intersection  of  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  and  the  Rue  Bara. 

"  They  are  barricading  the  street  at  both  ends  !  We  are 
hemmed  in  !  "  whispered  Landes. 

Someone  came  to  the  gate  and  hammered  on  it  with  the 
butt  of  a  revolver.  Landes  stepped  into  the  porter's  lodge 
and  listened  from  the  doorway. 

Quiet  there  !  "  growled  Joseph,  shuffling  about  noisilvin 
his  sabots.     "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  citizen  !  "  came  the  cheery  answer, 
with  a  strong  English  accent ;  "  can  you  give  me  a  drink  of 
water  ?  " 

Landes  sprang  to  the  gate.  "  Wilton  !  Oh,  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  !  Come  in  !  "  Joseph  opened  the  gate  and  Philip 
dragged  the  newcomer  into  the  porter's  lodge.  By  the 
candle  light  he  appeared  a  sturdy  bright-eyed  youth  in  a 
Colonel's  uniform  of  the  National  Guard. 

'  Why,  Philip,  old  man  !  I  didn't  know  you  were  in 
Paris  yet." 

"  Well,  I  am,  and  a  suspect  of  your  damned  Commune." 

"  Rubbish  !  "  began  Wilton,  but  on  seeing  Landes'  face  he 
frowned  and  whistled. 

"  You're  a  Colonel,  Archie — you  ought  to  be  able  to  help 
me." 

"What  did  you  do?  " 

"  Nothing, — insulted  Raoul  Rigault  several  days  ago  and 
punched  his  head  to-night,  punched  a  Federal  sentinel  in  the 
nose  and  took  away  his  rifle,  punched  Tribert,  Colonel  of  the 
265th,  in  the  nose " 

Wilton  burst  into  a  wild  shriek  of  laughter  and  fell  help- 
lessly against  the  wall. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  making  that  row  for  ?  Do  you 
want  to  have  the  pickets  down  on  us  ?  "  said  Landes,  angrily. 
Josepn,  astonished  and  motionless,  looked  on  with  melan- 
cholv  disapproval. 

"  Go  on,  Philip  !  "  gasped  Wilton.  "  Oh,  don't  let  me 
interrupt  you  !  " 

"  There's  nothing  more,  except  that  a  trio  of  cut-throats 
are  waiting  to  cut  mine — and  also,  as  I  was  mixed  up  in  the 
Montmartre  business,  I'm  a  marked  man  on  that  score,  too." 

"  Well,  you  have  managed  to  put  your  foot  in  pretty  deep. 
How  did  it  come  about  ?  " 


112  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

As  briefly  as  possible  Landes  exploined  the  whole  situation, 
and  demanded  his  countryman's  advice  and  aid. 

"  You  shall  have  it,  my  dear  fellow  !  You  shall  have  all 
the  help  I  can  give  you.  But  how  much  that  will  be  and 
how  long  it  will  last  I  can't  tell.  The  Commune  watches  us 
foreign  officers  like  a  cat.  To-day  Dombrowski  is  Gener.il 
(and  a  devilish  good  one  !) — to-morrow  the  Central  Com- 
mittee may  shoot  him.  To-day  Frankenberg,  Smitz,  and 
your  humble  servant  are  Colonels — to-morrow  wc  may  be 
kicking  our  heels  in  the  Mazas  Prison." 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  come  to  enter  the  Federal 
army,  Archie  ?  " 

"  It  was  Gustave  Courbet.     He  got  me  my  commission." 

"  But  what  did  you  do  it  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  the  fun." 

"  Fun  !  " 

"  Well,  excitement.  I'm  a  rotten  painter,  but  I  think  I'll 
make  a  good  soldier." 

"  Pity  you  didn't  find  that  out  in  time  to  go  to  West  Point." 

"  I  know  it.  But  after  all,  what's  the  difference  ?  It's  all 
fighting." 

"  And  a  little  parading  ?  "  laughed  Landes. 

"  Yes.  I  like  a  red-banded  cap  and  a  sword  banging  about 
my  heels." 

"  But  it's  a  shame  to  see  you  among  those  thugs  !  I  tell 
you  the  Commune  fouled  its  hands  to  the  bone  in  the  bloody 
work  on  Montmartre  !  " 

"  It  was  foul  work,"  said  Wilton,  soberly,  "  and  they'll 
have  to  pay  for  it.  After  the  elections  we  will  rout  out  these 
assassins  and  purge  every  battalion.  Anyway,  you  know 
every  great  cause  is  injured  by  those  who  use  its  name  to 
cloak  their  crimes,"  added  Archie,  pompously. 

"  I  think  I've  heard  Mademoiselle  Faustine  Courtois  make 
a  similar  observation,"  smiled  Landes. 

"  No  doubt  !    No  doubt  !    We  think  alike.' 

"  And  Ynes  Falaise, — do  you  and  she  also — think  alike  ?  " 

"  By  Jove  ! — Isn't  she  a  darling  ?    So  clever,  too  !  ' 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  "  I  hear  she  admires  your  uniform." 

"  Does  she  ?  Well,  it  is  handsome,"  cried  Archie,  with  a 
boyish  movement.  "  I  had  the  galons  put  on  myself.  And 
look  at  those  boots  !  They  cost  one  hundred  and  fift}'  francs. 
What  are  you  grinning  at  ?    Think  a  man  can't  fight " 


HEMMED    IN  113 

"  I  think  you'll  fight  as  well  in  boots  at  one  hundred  and 
fifty  francs,  as  at  fifteen  francs — and  that's  like  a  little  devil 
when  you  get  going.  But  what  good  will  your  boots  and 
your  galons  do  me  ?  And  how  will  they  help  this  young  lady 
to  get  out  of  Paris  ?    That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

'  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Philip  ?  "  asked  Wilton,  with  a 
frank  smile. 

"  Was  that  your  battalion  that  just  passed  ?  " 

"  The  Infantry  ?  Yes,  the  266th  de  marche.  We  left  three 
hundred  men  at  the  War  Ministry." 

"  Yes,"  thought  Philip,  grimly,  "  I  saw  some  of  them. 
What  are  they  going  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  aloud. 

"  The  engineers  are  closing  this  street  at  both  ends  with 
barricades,  and  my  men  escorted  the  artillery  which  is  to 
man  them." 

"  Both  ends  of  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  are  barricaded  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  by  morning." 

"  Are  you  to  command  here  ?  " 

"  Don't  know." 

"  Can  you  give  my  concierge  a  pass  to  go  and  get  food  for 
us?  " 

"  To  clear  the  barricades  ?    Oh,  yes  !    Anything  else  ?  ' 

"  Can  you  keep  the  Federals  out  of  the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  else  ?  " 

"  Well.  I  want  to  communicate  with  the  American 
Minister.  First  I  want  to  place  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac 
under  his  protection,  and  next  I  want  to  get  out  of  the  city 
myself.  It's  damned  unpleasant.  I  dare  not  go  out  by 
daylight.  If  I  were  recognized  and  Raoul  Rigault  caught 
me,  all  the  officers  of  the  National  Guard  couldn't  save 
me." 

"  Does  Rigault  know  where  you  live  ?  If  he  does  I'm 
afraid  my  protection  won't  count  for  much." 

"  Unless  his  spies  have  found  out  within  twenty-four 
hours,  he  doesn't.  If  he  had  known,  he  would  have  sent  for 
me  when  he  did  for  Marsy.  I  came  here  during  the  siege, 
from  the  Hdtel  du  Mont  Blanc.  The  police  were  thinking 
of  other  things  and  the  whole  city  was  dodging  shells.  I  never 
inscribed  myself  and  nobody  asked  any  questions.  Faustine 
and  Ynes,  Jack  Ellice,  and  one  or  two  other  Americans,  are 
all  who  ever  knew  where  I  lived.  My  letters  go  to  the  bank, 
and  the  only  address  they  have  at  the  bank  is  the  old  one. 


114  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Perhaps  I  might  go  at  night  to  the  Legation.  Of  course  the 
postal  union  is  watched." 

"  Of  course, — and  the  telegraph.  As  for  the  Legation,  it 
is  surrounded  by  a  perfect  pest  of  spies.  The  whole  city  is 
swarming  with  them.  We  foreigners  of  the  army  are 
forbidden  to  hold  any  communication  or  even  approach 
within  half  a  mile  of  any  foreign  legation,  except  under  orders. 
But  it  seems  to  me  you  will  be  safe  here  for  the  present  if  you 
keep  close.  Your  concierge  will  have  the  pass  to  come  and 
go.     Is  he  faithful  ?  " 

"  Joseph  is  as  true  as  steel  and  as  good  as  gold  !  "  said 
Landes  in  French,  smiling  at  him.  Joseph's  anxious  and  dis- 
approving face  cleared  up. 

"  Well,  then,  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  tell  Raoul  Rigault,  when 
it  comes  handy,  that  you've  been  seen  in  Versailles,  and  he'll 
be  off  the  scent — for  a  while.  And  I'll  manage  to  keep  other 
intruders  away  from  here  as  long  as  I  am  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. And  I'll  do  my  best  to  get  word  to  the  American 
Minister,  but — there  I'm  doubtful.  It's  this  infernal, 
ridiculous  Bergeret  who  makes  all  the  trouble.  He's  jealous 
of  all  the  foreign  officers.  Dombrowski's  a  soldier — but 
Bergeret  would  make  an  army  mule  shed  tears." 

Wilton  picked  up  his  sword  and  moved  to  the  gate,  accom- 
panied by  Philip.     Joseph  met  them  with  a  bottle  in  his  hand. 

"  Monsieur  the  Colonel  asks  for  water,"  he  said,  humbly, 
"  but  I,  Joseph  Lelocard,  am  proud  to  offer  Monsieur  the 
Colonel  this  wine  of  Burgundy."  Wilton  took  the  bottle, 
coolly  knocked  off  the  neck,  filled  a  china  bowl  with  the  wine, 
and  swallowed  it  to  the  last  drop. 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  was  drunk  to  the  health  and  prosperity 
of  every  one  in  this  house.  It's  good  wine,  and  you're  a  good 
fellow,  Joseph.  Good-night,  Philip,  old  chap  !  Good-night, 
Joseph — I  should  say — er — Citizen,"  and  he  clanked  away, 
whistling  "  Marching  through  Georgia,"  with  all  the  power 
of  his  lungs. 

Landes  listened  until  far  up  the  street  he  heard  him  break 
off  whistling  to  give  some  order  in  a  loud,  happy,  boyish  voice. 

"  Joseph,"  said  Landes,  looking  at  the  concierge  who  was 
looking  at  the  clock  on  the  wall  of  his  lodge,  "  Joseph,  I 
would  give  half  I'm  worth  if  you  had  not  sent  your  wife  and 
children  away  just  yet." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 


JEANNE    DE    BRASS  AC  115 

"  But  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  will  only  be  detained  here  a 
day  or  two.  We  will  do  our  best  to  make  her  forget  how 
rough  her  quarters  are." 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur." 

"  Well,  now  go  to  bed  and  have  breakfast  at  nine,  coffee, 
hot  rolls,  eggs  on  toast,  fruit,  brioche,  meat  for  the  cat,  and 
bread  and  milk  for  the  puppy,  with  a  bone  scraped  clean — 
how  dare  you  yawu  when  I'm  speaking  !  " 

"  Pardon.  I  did  not,  Monsieur.  It  was  astonishment 
and  admiration  that  Monsieur  forgets  nothing." 

"  It's  nearly  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Don't  rise 
early.  I  think  we  are  safe  and  may  rest.  Go  to  bed,  and 
don't  walk  like  a  bald-headed  eagle  !  "  he  broke  off  nervously. 

"  Good-night,  Monsieur  Philip,"  said  Joseph,  devotedly  ; 
"sleep  well,   Monsieur  Philip." 

"  And  you,  too,  my  good  Joseph.     Good-night." 


CHAPTER    IX 

Jeanne  de  Brassac 

The  morning  air  had  been  sharp  and  a  wood  fire  crackled  on 
the  hearth,  as  Philip,  fresh  from  his  cold  bath,  walked  out 
into  the  studio. 

Sunlight  fell  in  golden  squares  and  diamonds  on  the  floor, 
and  through  the  glass  roof  of  the  extension  he  could  see  blue 
sky,  spring-like  and  cloudless.  The  studio  was  silent  and 
empty.  He  looked  up  at  Jeanne  de  Brassac's  door.  On 
the  landing  sat  Tcherka  in  a  patch  of  sunshine  and  blinked  at 
him  through  the  railings,  her  splendid  green  eyes  following 
his  movements  with  pleasant  indifference.  Unwilling  to 
raise  his  voice  in  calling  her,  he  held  out  his  hand.  She 
retained  her  seat  and  her  serene  composure.  But  when  he 
ostentatiously  brought  a  bowl  and  set  it  on  the  hearth  and 
filled  it  full  of  milk,  then  Tcherka's  voice  could  have  been 
heard  as  far  as  the  Rue  Bara,  while  she  trotted  down  with 
her  tail  erect.  At  the  same  moment  the  door  above  opened 
a  little  way  and  the  setter  puppy  charged  out,  fell  most  of  the 
way  downstairs  and  hurled  himself  first  upon  Landes  and 
then  on  the  bowl  of  milk.     Tcherka,  much  annoyed,  drew 


Il6  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

back,  her  ears  flat,  her  dainty  pink  tongue  half  out.  The 
puppy  gulped  and  lapped  and  slobbered  and  wagged.  A  low 
rumble  came  from  Tcherka.  Landes  laughed  quietly, 
brought  a  fresh  saucer  of  milk  for  her,  and  stood  guard  over  it 
until  she  had  polished  the  china  clean.  Then  he  opened  the 
door  which  led  into  the  garden,  and  Tcherka  walked  out  to 
stretch  her  claws  on  the  rose  bushes,  while  the  puppy  rolled 
on  the  gravel  and  dug  important  holes  under  the  trees. 

Joseph  came  in  with  a  tray  of  fresh  glass  and  silver  and, 
spreading  a  white  damask  cloth  over  the  Japanese  table, 
proceeded  to  arrange  the  breakfast. 

"  Did  you  have  any  trouble  in  clearing  the  barricades  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur  Philip,  an  orderly  came  with  a  pass  early 
this  morning,  good  for  two  weeks,  and  to  be  renewed  when 
we  desire  it." 

"  What  is  the  news  ?  " 

"  The  elections  are  for  to-morrow.  There  is  talk  also  of  a 
sortie  to  Versailles." 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  Philip,  contemptuously. 

"  To  catch  Monsieur  Thiers,  par  bleu  !  " 

'*  Nonsense  !  " 

"  They  say  now  is  the  time,  before  the  troops  come  back 
from  Germany.  They  say  he  hasn't  got  much  of  an  army 
now.     Shall  I  light  the  coffee  machine  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  but  while  he  spoke,  looking  up  to  the  landing 
above,  the  door  opened  and  Jeanne  de  Brassac  stepped  out. 
She  leaned  on  the  wooden  railing  and  looked  down  into  the 
studio  as  Landes  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Good-morning,  Monsieur  Landes  !    May  I  come  down  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  beg  you  will  !  "  he  stammered,  bowing  and  walk- 
ing to  the  foot  of  the  stair. 

One  white  hand  held  lightly  to  the  balustrade,  her  face 
was  bent  a  little  timidly,  as  she  descended,  Philip  watching 
her.  He  had  not  imagined  she  was  so  beautiful.  Her 
glorious  hair  was  drawn  back  from  a  pure  white  forehead  low 
but  full,  and  her  eyes,  her  violet  eyes,  which  he  remembered 
when  she  was  Victor's  little  sister,  were  filled  with  a  light  so 
sweet  and  serene,  that  he  turned  his  own  eyes  away,  troubled 
before  so  pure  a  gaze. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he 
led  her  to  an  arm-chair  before  the  fire,  standing  beside  her 
when  she  was  seated. 


JEANNE    DE    BRASS  AC  117 

"  Are  you  rested,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Yes, — and  better,  much  better,"  she  answered  quietly. 
'  Are  you,  Monsieur  Landes  ?  You  can  hardly  be  rested, 
after — after  all  you  did  !  '  The  open  trust  and  admiration 
of  her  look  and  the  soft-foiling  inflection  of  her  voice  made 
the  young  man  flush  up  with  embarrassment  and  pleasure. 
"  And  you  must  have  missed  your  room.  I  am  so  sorry  to 
disturb  you." 

"  Pardon.  I  am  thoroughly  rested.  And  my  room  is 
over  there,"  pointing  to  a  curtain  which  half  concealed  a  door 
in  the  rear  of  the  studio.  "  The  room  which  you  do  me  the 
honour  to  occupy  has  never  been  used  before  since  I  came 
here.  I  feared  it  would  be  hardly  comfortable.  So  small 
and " 

"  It  is  perfect.  And  what  a  beautiful  studio.  I  was  never 
in  an  artist's  studio  before.  I  should  have  seen  Victor's  if  he 
had  lived  to  come  home,"  she  added  sadly. 

"  Breakfast  is  served,  Monsieur  Philip,"  said  Joseph. 
Landes  offered  his  arm  to  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  and  led 
her  out  into  the  glass-roofed  extension  where  the  table  stood. 
Sunshine  sparkled  among  the  silverware,  the  china,  and 
slender  glass  ;  the  coffee  machine  was  steaming.  Outside 
the  window,  on  top  of  an  almond-tree,  the  blackbird  was 
doing  his  best  at  a  solo,  with  a  confident  eye  on  Tcherka  who 
stalked  him  eagerly  below. 

"  She  will  never  catch  him,"  said  Landes. 

"  But — she  is  very  cruel  all  the  same — I  must  teach  her 
better." 

"  I  fear  that's  a  lesson  she  can't  learn,"  laughed  Philip. 

He  dismissed  Joseph  and  served  his  guest  himself.  At 
first  they  were  quiet  and  a  little  reserved,  and  ate  almost 
silently.     After  a  while  he  said  : 

'  When  I  last  had  the  honour  of  breakfasting  with  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac,  she  was  a  very  young  lady  indeed — I 
think  she  wore  pinafores,"  he  added,  venturing  on  a  jesting 
tone.     It  was  taken  up  with  ready  tact. 

"  No,  she  had  discarded  those  at  the  last  school  term. 
But  I  won't  deny  she  had  her  hair  in  plaits.  And  I  know  she 
thought  her  brother  Victor's  American  friend  a  very  old 
gentleman  indeed  !  " 

"  But  you  played  for  him  !  " 

"  You  remember  that  !     Oh,  I  took  great  pains  for  the 


Il8  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

American  gentleman, — I  wanted  to  please  him,  with  my 
tiresome  little  music  !  " 

"  Tiresome  !  Not  that,  Mademoiselle  !  And  in  the 
evenings  you  sang  '  Carcasonne  ' " 

"  For  my  father  !  "  she  added  quickly  ;   her  face  fell. 

"  I  have  always  remembered  that  Christmas  week,"  said 
Landes,  gently,  "  your  parents  and  their  kindness,  Victor, 
who  was  my  best  friend,  and — and  you." 

'  Victor  was  always  talking  of  you  before  you  came,  and 
after  your  visit  I  often  heard  my  parents  speaking  of  you  in 
— in  the  same  way.  As  for  me,  I  could  not  have  believed 
that  you  would  remember  such  a  little  convent  girl.  You 
seemed  so  very  wise,  and  oh  !  so  tall  !  Dear  me,  how  little 
I  was  then.  Am  I  not  almost  as  tall  as  you  are  now, 
Monsieur " 

"  —  Philip,"  he  entreated. 

"  Monsieur  Philip,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  smile,  rising 
and  moving  lightly  about  the  studio,  touching  a  sketch  here, 
a  bit  of  carving  or  porcelain  there,  picking  up  and  glancing  at 
a  sheet  of  music  which  lay  on  the  piano  in  one  corner.  Landes 
stood  and  looked  after  her,  uncertain  what  to  say  or  do  next. 
What  tone  should  he  take  ?  How  should  he  tell  to  her  the 
things  which  she  must  hear — how  ask  her  to  tell  him  the 
things  which  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  know  if  he  was  to 
be  of  service  to  her  ?  He  was  a  man  who  dreaded  stiffness 
and  hated  self-consciousness,  but  here  was  a  situation  which 
seemed  unavoidably  full  of  both.  Thus  far  the  fine  breeding 
and  sweet  tact  of  this  young  lady  had  placed  and  kept  them 
in  the  apparent  relations  of  everyday  host  and  hostess.  But 
that  could  not  last.  As  he  looked  at  her  dainty  head  and 
self-possessed  little  figure,  good  heavens  !  how  he  dreaded  to 
see  the  first  painful  flush  that  should  betray  she  felt  the 
impossible  situation  ! 

She  had  been  standing  with  her  back  to  him,  absorbed,  it 
seemed,  in  examining  the  black  carved  panels  of  an  old  Breton 
armoire.  Suddenly  she  turned  and  came  toward  him  ;  he 
advanced  to  meet  her.  She  paused  as  they  met  beside  an 
easel.  Leaning  one  hand  upon  it,  with  that  pretty  trick  she 
had,  she  held  out  the  othei  hand  with  a  gesture  full  of  generous 
emotion. 

"  Ah  !  How  can  I  tell  you  what  I  feel.  Can  I  ever  thank 
you  enough  ?  " 


JEANNE    DE    BRASS  AC  119 

"  You  thank  me  far  more  than  I  deserve — you  make  me 
happier  than  I  ever — ever " 

"  See  how  embarrassed  you  arc  !  "  she  cried,  a  wonderful 
light  in  her  sweet  eyes.  "  All  brave  men  are  so  when  one 
tries  to  praise  them  a  little." 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  interrupted,  "if  you  will  talk  of 
courage  I  must  say  to  you  that  your  bearing  last  night  was 
beyond  belief." 

"  That  was  not  courage." 

"  Wasn't  it  ?     It  looked  very  like  courage." 

"  No,  it  was  contempt.  When  the  door  broke  down  I 
thought  it  was  Tribert  come  back  as  he  had  threatened.  Do 
you  think  I  would  let  him  see  I  cared  for  anything  he  could 
do  ?    And  when  you  and  the  strange  officer  entered " 

"  On  our  heads,"  said  Philip,  and  a  laugh  relieved  the 
tension  of  their  feelings. 

"  We  owe  you  many  apologies  for  that  performance,"  he 
continued,  "  but  your  composure  was  wonderful.  And  after- 
wards,— your  father  would  have  been  proud  of  you  on  the 
retreat,  Mademoiselle." 

Having  turned  the  tables  successfully,  he  went  on,  not 
giving  her  time  to  speak  : 

"  And  since  it  appears  we  are  to  serve  together  a  while 
longer,  shall  we  hold  a  council  of  war  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  that  is  a  council  where  you  will  tell  me  whit 
should  be  done,  and  I  shall  agree  to  everything  you  advise," 
she  smiled,  taking  the  chair  he  set  for  her  with  instant 
acquiescence,  all  her  attention  concentrated  on  what  he  had 
to  say. 

Landes  felt  his  excited  nerves  calmed  and  steadied,  and  the 
dreaded  interview  began  to  look  less  alarming. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Philip  sat  smoking 
on  the  rim  of  the  fountain.  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  was  in 
the  studio  resting  among  the  cushions  cf  the  divan,  with 
Tcherka  beside  her.  She  had  promised  not  to  stir  until 
Philip  gave  her  leave.  He  sat  and  smoked  and  thought,  and 
tried  to  arrange  things  in  his  mind. 

Summed  up,  this  was  the  substance  of  what  she  had  told 
him.  Returning  from  the  death-bed  of  her  father,  bewildered 
with  grief  and  fright,  she  had  shut  herself  for  the  rest  of  the 
night  in  her  apartments  at  the  Hotel  Perret,  and  refused  to 
see  even  her  maid,  Marie.  Next  morning  the  woman,  who 
1 


120  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

was  verv  faithful,  insisted  on  calling  her  mistress'  attention 
to  the  diamonds.  She  was  carrying  them  about  with  her  in 
a  small  black  hand-bag,  and  she  begged  Mademoiselle  de 
Brassac  to  say  what  should  be  done  with  them.  "  I  could  not 
say, — I  did  not  care,"  said  the  young  lady,  looking  pitifully 
at  Philip,  her  lips  trembling  ;  "  they  had  cost  my  father  his 
life."  Then  came  officers  from  the  government,  asking 
questions  and  giving  orders.  "  They  acted  so  strangely," 
Jeanne  continued  ;  "  they  would  not  let  my  father  be  buried 
at  Chartres,  they  would  not  permit  any  of  our  friends  to  be 
sent  for.  Marie  begged  them  to  put  me  under  the  protection 
of  an  older  lady.  We  have  no  relations  in  Paris,  but  she 
mentioned  one  or  two  friends  of  my  mothers,  and  wanted  to 
go  to  them  for  me.  She  was  always  put  off,  sometimes  with 
the  pretext  that  the  lady  she  mentioned  was  not  in  Paris, 
sometimes  by  a  direct  refusal,  without  any  excuse.  Marie 
said  if  the  government  had  committed  the  crime  themselves 
the}''  could  not  have  been  more  secret  about  it.  They  hurried 
my  father's  funeral,  and  took  him  away  the  evening  after  he 
died.  Then  they  came  and  said  I  must  return  next  day  to 
Chartres.  Marie  got  our  things  ready,  and  all  the  time  she 
kept  talking  about  the  diamonds,  and  how  unsafe  it  was  to 
carry  them  in  that  little  hand-bag.  Once,  teased  by  her 
importunity,  I  said,  'why  do  you  not  send  them  to  the 
Bank  of  France  as  my  father  intended  to  do  ?  '  But  she  was 
very  suspicious  by  nature,  and  the  terrible  event  had  made 
her  more  so.  '  No,'  she  cried,  '  Monsieur  your  father  was 
trying  for  three  days  to  place  them  there  and  he  did  not 
succeed.  We  will  not  let  them  go  out  of  our  own  hands  !  ' 
'  As  you  like,'  I  said,  and  went  on  weeping  for  my  father. 

"  Early  next  morning,  I  sent  an  orderly  to  you  at  the 
Luxembourg.  We  were  intending  to  leave  for  Chartres  that 
afternoon."  "Why  did  you  send  away  the  orderly?" 
Philip  had  inquired  ;  "  why  not  have  sent  Marie  ?  " 
"  Because  I  thought  the  orderly  would  go  and  return  much 
more  quickly,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  spare  Marie.  I  did 
not  want  to  be  left  quite  alone.  When  he  had  been  gone  only 
a  short  time,  the  maid  began  again  about  the  diamonds.  I 
was  weeping,  and  I  would  not  listen.  I  felt  as  if  I  hated  them. 
Then  at  last  she  lost  her  temper, — my  poor  good  Marie, —  and 
she  said,  '  very  well,  Mademoiselle,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  j'ou 
care  neither  for  me  nor  for  the  diamonds,  since  you  make  me 


JEANNE    DE    BRASS  AC  121 

carry  them  about  in  this  dangerous  way  !  '  and  she  shook  the 
bag  angrily.  She  walked  out  into  the  hall  while  she  was 
speaking,  and  came  back  instantly,  very  pale,  followed  by 
the  landlord,   Perret. 

'  He  said  he  had  come  to  tell  me  that  the  orderly  had  not 
returned,  but  another  one  had  just  been  sent  in  haste  from  the 
Luxembourg.  Monsieur  Landes  was  dying  of  his  wound,  and 
begged  to  see  me  ;  he  wished  to  speak  to  me  of  my  father. 
There  was  no  time  to  lose — Perret  said — I  must  go  at  once. 
I  told  him  to  send  the  orderly  to  me.  He  replied  that  the 
man  had  hurried  away  immediately  on  delivering  his  message. 
We  felt  that  there  was  something  wrong.  But  what  could 
we  do  ! — Ah  !  Monsieur  Philip,  what  could  we  two  women 
do  ?  Besides,  I  could  not  think  seriously  of  anything  but 
that  you  might  die  before  I  could  see  and  thank  you.  For  I 
too  had  a  message  from  my  father  for  you." 

Tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  looked  down,  sitting  still  with 
her  hands  folded  in  her  lap  until  she  was  able  to  control  the 
trembling  of  her  lips  once  more.  Then  she  went  on  :  "  Perret 
hurried  off  to  fetch  a  carriage.  Marie  watched  him  down  the 
hall  until  the  door  closed  behind  him.  Then  she  turned  to 
me  in  great  excitement.  '  He  was  standing  in  the  door  of 
the  anteroom,  no  one  knows  how  long.  He  heard  what  I 
said,'  she  murmured  ;  '  now  we  must  find  another  place  for 
the  diamonds.'  Then  I  became  excited,  too.  I  did  not 
choose  that  they  should  be  taken  from  me  without  my 
consent.  We  looked  here  and  there — always  in  great  haste, 
expecting  the  return  of  Perret.  There  was  no  hiding-place 
anywhere — each  one  proposed  seemed  more  unsafe  than  the 
other.  Marie  ran  to  the  hall  door.  I  heard  Perret  coming 
up  the  stairs  outside.  '  Hurry,  hurry,  Mademoiselle  !  '  she 
whispered.  There  was  an  old  pistol  which  my  father  had 
bought  of  an  antiquary  to  take  back  to  the  gun-room  at 
Chartres  as  a  curiosity.  It  hung  on  the  wall  beside  his 
dressing-table.  I  poured  the  diamonds  into  the  long  barrel, 
stuffed  in  a  wad  of  paper,  and  hung  it  back  on  the  wall. 
Monsieur  Perret  knocked,  Marie  opened  the  door  and  said, 
'  Was  the  carriage  there  ?  if  so  we  were  read}'.  They  will 
be  safe  until  we  return,'  she  whispered  to  me,  as  we  followed 
Perret  down  the  stairs.  He  had  locked  the  door  carefully 
and  given  the  key  to  Marie — who  dropped  it  into  the  little 
hand-bag  as  we  stood  in  the  court.     I  saw  him  look  at  the 


122  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

bag  and  then  at  her.  1  wanted  to  go  back, — I  tclt — I  knew 
there  was  something  wrong.  But  it  was  too  late.  Perret 
held  the  carriage  door  (it  was  a  closed  carriage  which  Perret 
owned  and  drove  himself )  ;  he  helped  us  in  and  mounted 
the  box.  As  we  turned  out  of  the  Place  Pigalle  a  regiment 
of  hussars  entered  the  square.  Marie  suddenly  pulled  my 
dress,  leaned  forward,  and  whispered  ;  '  that  is  no  place  to 
leave  the  diamonds,  it  is  the  first  place  any  thief  would  search. 
I  must  go  back  and  get  them.'  '  No,  no  !  '  I  said,  '  you  shall 
not,  Marie ! '  But  she  was  a  great  deal  older  than  I, — she  had 
been  my  mother's  maid — she  only  obeyed  me  when  she  chose, 
she  thought  she  always  knew  best.  '  I  command  you, 
Marie  !  '  I  cried.  Then,  '  you  would  not  leave  me  alone  !  ' 
'  Only  one  moment,  dear  Mademoiselle,'  she  whispered  ; 
'  there  is  no  danger,  the  hussars  are  standing  by  the  fountain. 
You  are  perfectly  safe  if  I  make  him  stop  here  !  '  And  with- 
out listening  to  me  any  more  she  spoke  to  Perret  and  ordered 
him  to  stop.  She  explained  that  she  must  return  for  Made- 
moiselle's smelling-salts  ;  they  had  been  forgotten,  and  Made- 
moiselle was  faint ;  and,  opening  the  door,  she  almost  flew 
back  across  the  square.  I  saw  her  enter  the  house — poor 
Marie  ! — and  we  stood  waiting  a  little  while,  then  Perret 
started  the  horses.  That  frightened  me  till  1  saw  he  seemed 
intending  to  turn  around.  He  crossed  very  slowly  to  the 
other  side  of  the  street  and  stopped.  From  there  the  hussars 
at  the  fountain  in  the  Place  Pigalle  were  out  of  sight.  We 
were  very  near  a  corner.  All  at  once  Perret  lashed  the 
horses  and  they  sprang  forward,  turned  the  corner  sharply 
and  wheeled  into  a  court.  It  was  a  court  surrounded  by 
warehouses — I  had  my  hand  on  the  door,  and  I  called  out. 
Two  men  in  the  uniform  of  the  National  Guard  sprang  at  me, 
forced  me  back,  entered  the  carriage,  tied  and  gagged  me. 
Perret  stood  at  the  window  and  looked  in  smiling.  They 
pulled  down  the  blinds,  someone  on  the  box  whipped  up  the 
horses,  and  they  took  me  to  the  Impasse  de  la  Mort.  I  was 
kept  there  locked  in  one  room  all  that  day  and  the  next — 
until  you  came." 

"  Whom  did  you  see  during  that  time  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  Tribert,  always  Tribert.  He  wanted  to  make  me  tell 
where  the  diamonds  were.  He  said  they  had  killed  my  father 
and  my  maid  for  them,  and  they  would  kill  me,  too,  unless  I 
confessed  where  the  diamonds  were." 


JEANNE    DE    BRASSAC  123 

"  I  ought  to  have  killed  him,"  muttered  Philip  to  himself, 
as  he  thought  it  over. 

"  And  the  other  prisoners,"  he  had  asked,  "  Captain  de 
Carette  and  the  lady " 

"  I  did  not  see  them  at  all.  Tribert  said,  when  he  was 
trying  to  frighten  me,  that  they  had  caught  two  more  aristo- 
crats, and  meart  to  serve  them  as  they  would  me.  He  did 
not  tell  me  their  names,  and  I  saw  them  last  night  for  the 
first  time." 

Then  Landes  had  explained  who  de  Carette  was,  who 
Ellice  was,  and  how  he  himself  stood  in  relation  to  Raoul 
Rigault.  Finally  came  the  dreaded  announcement  that  they 
were  shut  in  between  two  barricades,  and  no  course  was 
possible  to  them  but  to  remain  hidden  where  they  were  for 
the  present.  To  his  unspeakable  relief  she  had  received  this 
news  very  quietly.  She  could  hardly  have  been  paler  than 
she  was  already,  but  he  thought  she  looked  a  little  more  wan 
than  before,  as  she  listened,  and  her  soft  eyes  were  almost 
black  as  she  lifted  them  confidingly  to  his.  But  of  personal 
embarrassment,  of  disagreeable  self-consciousness,  there  was 
not  a  trace,  and  Landes  decided,  as  he  thought  it  over,  that 
this  child  was  the  most  dignified  woman  he  had  ever  met. 

He  was  still  musing  an  hour  later,  when  Mademoiselle  de 
Brassac  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "  May  I  come  out  into 
the  garden,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling  brightly. 

Landes  hastened  to  her.  "  Are  you  rested,  Mademoiselle  ?  ' 
Quite  rested." 

"  And  you  are  feeling  well  ?  " 

"  Very  well." 

"  Then  will  you  walk  a  little  ?  " 

Long  warm  bars  of  sunlight  la}'  across  the  gravel  as  they 
stepped  into  the  garden.  Tcherka  and  the  puppy  followed 
and  made  straight  for  the  almond  tree,  but  the  blackbird 
knew  he  was  safe  and  ruffled  his  plumes  in  derision. 

The  puppy  remembered  that  the  fountain  was  inhabited  by 
five  creatures  which  had  thus  far  baffled  investigation,  and 
he  poked  his  nose  over  the  stone  edge,  cocking  his  ears  and 
whining.  The  two  goldfish  stared  at  him  in  frigid  unconcern 
and  sank  slowly  to  the  bottom.  Their  blase  indifference  was 
more  than  he  could  bear,  and  he  raced  around  the  basin  with 
hysterical  yelps,  but  a  small  black  beetle  hurrying  along  on 
some  pressing  business  engaged  his  attention  and  he  followed 


124  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

that  with  enthusiasm  until  it  ran  into  a  crack  in  the  wall. 
Tcherka  sat  down  in  the  sunshine  and  blinked  amicably  at 
the  blackbird,  who  now,  as  a  precaution,  stood  on  the  extreme 
tip  of  the  almond  tree,  preening  and  pruning  and  uttering 
single  liquid  notes. 

The  street  outside  was  very  silent.  At  intervals  the 
challenge  of  a  sentry  came  to  them  faintly  from  the  direction 
of  the  Rue  Vavin,  but  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  was  quiet  and  the 
stillness  was  only  broken  by  the  patter  of  the  puppy  over 
the  gravel,  and  the  blackbird's  solitary  note. 

"  Are  you  chilly,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  it  is  warm  here  in  the  sunshine.  Look  at  the 
puppv." 

"  What  do  you  call  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  never  been  named.  Name  him,  Monsieur 
Philip." 

"  I  name  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an  English  name." 

"  Do  you  speak  English  ?  " 

"  A  little.     I  had  an  English  governess." 

"  Then  if  I  speak  to  you  in  English  will  you  answer  ?  " 

"  No — not  now — perhaps  some  day.  Please  name  the 
puppy." 

"  A  romantic  name  ?  " 

"Oh  no." 

"  Commonplace  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  give  you  any  help." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Rover  ?  " 

"  Really,"  she  said  disdainfully,  "  all  the  English  dogs  I 
ever  heard  of  were  named  Rover." 

"Sport?  " 

"  —Except  Sport  and  Dash.     Now  think  !  " 

"  We  might  call  him  Mr.  Smith — that  is  not  romantic." 

"  All  the  people  in  England  are  named  Smith." 

"  But  all  the  dogs  are  not." 

"  What  a  shame  to  make  fun  of  me.  Name  him  at  once, 
Monsieur." 

"Well  then— Toodles." 

"  That  is  not  very  pretty,  but  it  will  do,"  she  said  seriously. 
"  How  do  you  pronounce  it  ?    Too-dell  ?  " 

"Toodles." 

"  Too-dclls  ?  " 


JEANNE    DE    BRASS  AC  125 

"  Toodles." 

"  That  is  what  I  say,  Too-dells.  Viens-ici,  mon  petit  Too- 
dells.  Ah  !  qu'il  est  laid,  ce  nom  !  mon  pauvre  petit  Too- 
dells  !     And  did  you  put  those  goldfish  in  the  fountain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  very  stupid." 

"  Monsieur,  do  you  think  intelligence  necessary  in  gold- 
fish ?  I  begin  to  be  afraid  of  you.  I  am  not  very  intelligent 
either.  But,"  she  continued  with  a  quick  change  in  her 
manner,  "  one  need  not  be  very  intelligent  to  see  that  you  are 
troubled,  even  when  you  laugh.     Is  there  anything  new  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  sent  Joseph  to  the  Rue  de  Sfax  ;  he  returned  a 
little  while  ago.  The  house  where  Jack  Ellice  lived  was 
sacked  last  night." 

"  Oh  !    What  will  become  of  them  ?  " 

"  I'd  give  anything  to  know  they  are  safe.  De  Carette 
was  in  no  condition  to  stand  more  rough  usage.  And  EDice 
— he  is  brave,  if  you  like,  Mademoiselle.  He  risked  his  life 
last  night  from  pure  chivalry  and  pure  friendship." 

"  And  the  lady,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac,  "  oh,  if 
they  only  were  all  here  !  " 

"  Well,"  sighed  Philip,  shaking  off  his  depression,  "  we 
must  only  wait  and  hope  for  them  as  well  as  for  ourselves. 
There  are  still  one  or  two  questions  which  I  should  like  to 
ask  you  if  I  may " 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur  Philip." 

"  Where  are  the  settings  to  the  diamonds, — for  I  take  it 
that  your  father  removed  the  stones  for  convenience'  sake." 

"  They  are  at  home  in  Chartres.  They  are  very  old- 
fashioned  ;  I  think  they  are  safe,  for  no  one  would  want 
them." 

"  You  told  me  this  morning  that  Monsieur  de  St.  Gildas, 
your  only  near  relative  and  your  guardian,  is  still  in 
Germany  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  week  ago,  a  prisoner,  and  ill " 

"  But  I  could  write  to  Monsieur  de  St.  Gildas  at  Chartres, 
on  the  chance  of  getting  a  letter  through  by  paid  messenger." 

"  Yes,  my  cousin  is  in  Chartres,  waiting  for  the  return  of 
her  husband." 

"  One  thing  more.  Your  trunks  are  in  the  Place  Pigalle. 
Will  you  make  out  a  list  for  Joseph,  who  will  go  to  some 
shop  and  bring  you  what  you  need." 

"  You  are  very  thoughtful,   Monsieur.     I  think  he  had 


126  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

better  order  for  me  the  clothes  of  a  working  girl.     Anything 
better  would  attract  suspicion  to  him  buying  them."' 

'  Verjr  true.     You  will  forgive  me  if  I  seem  officious, 
Mademoiselle  ?  ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  then  clasped  her 
hands  in  the  earnestness  of  her  protest. 

'  Would  I  forgive  my  only  friend,  would  I  forgive  my 
brother  for  taking  care  of  me  ?  " 

"  My  little  sister  Jeanne,"  said  Landes,  deeply  moved. 


CHAPTER    X 

In  a  Garden 

The  elections  were  over,  the  farce  finished.  Out  of  435,000 
electors  only  60,000  went  out  into  the  streets  to  vote  at  the 
polls.  Everywhere  bayonets,  cannon,  and  mitrailleuses 
stared  the  people  in  the  face  ;  everywhere  the  battalions  of 
the  Commune  were  in  motion  and  the  ghastly  Hussars  of 
Death  galloped  through  the  trembling  city  with  hoarse  cries 
of  menace  or  of  triumph. 

In  the  midst  of  a  tumult  of  drums  and  bugles,  salvos  of 
artillery  and  Communistic  cheers,  the  last  vote  was  cast  into 
the  urns,  and  the  Hussars  of  Death  closed  in  around  the  polls. 
The  result  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Ninety-four  members 
of  the  Commune  were  elected,  each  ward  naming  members 
according  to  its  population.  Almost  without  exception  all 
the  present  members  of  the  Commune  were  re-elected. 

The  miserable  citv  shuddered. 

•J 

Next  day  Landes,  sitting  in  his  garden  with  his  sketching 
easel  betore  him,  heard  a  loud  ringing  at  the  outer  gate, and 
presently  Joseph  came  through  the  ivy-covered  alley  followed 
by  an  officer  of  the  Commune  in  full  uniform.  It  was  Wilton, 
and  Landes  rose  hastily  to  meet  him. 

"  Philip,"  he  said,  refusing  with  a  gesture  the  pi  offered 
seat,  "  I  only  came  to  tell  you  to  look  out.  My  battalion  is 
ordered  to  the  Fort  of  Issy  to-night  and  a  new  battalion  will 
replace  us  here  at  the  barricade  in  your  street.  I  don't  know 
who  is  in  command  or  what  the  battalion  is,  but  it  will  be 
more  necessary  than  ever  for  you  to  remain  here  out  of  sight, 


Itf    A    GARDEN  12 J 

because  domiciliary  visits  have  begun  and  Raoul  Rigault  is 
filling  the  prisons." 

"  I  hear  from  Joseph  that  he  has  been  confirmed  as  Chief 
of  Police  and  Procureur-General  of  the  Commune.  Is  it  so, 
Wilton  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  General  Duval  insisted.  He's  installed  in  the 
Prefecture  of  Police  with  a  gang  of  his  creatures  who  have 
nothing  to  learn  in  ferocity  from  Modoc  Indians.  It's  a 
shame.  Ferre  and  Henri  Verlet  are  his  fellow  Public  Accusers, 
Veimersch,  Humbert,  and  Villiaume  are  his  familiars.  Sarre 
and  Weser  do  his  dirty  work  along  with  that  miserable 
creature,  Pilotell." 

"  Pilotell,  the  caricaturist  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  know  him, — without  talent,  cowardly  and 
dissipated.  He  arrested  Monsieur  Polo,  editor  of  the 
'  Flclipse  '  yesterday,  and  Rigault  says  he  will  have  him  shot. 
As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  Monsieur  Polo's  crime  consists  in 
not  having  accepted  Pilotell's  tenth-rate  caricatures  for  his 
paper.  Pilotell  boasts  that  he  found  three  thousand  francs  on 
Monsieur  Polo  which  he  kept  for  the  '  Commune.'  Bah  ! 
I  am  getting  sick  of  this  Commune  !  " 

Landes  drew  him  into  a  seat  and  spoke  earnestly.  "  Give 
it  up,  Archie,  resign  and  leave  the  city.  You  can't  be  mixed 
up  with  such  a  crowd  of  ruffians  as  this  !  Is  it  too  late  to 
get  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  old  chap,  I  should  be  shot.  I  am  going  out  of  the 
city  anyway,  where  I  hope  we  will  have  some  fighting.  The 
Versailles  people  are  threatening  the  village  and  Fort  of 
Issy,  and,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  the  music  will  begin  there. 
I  shouldn't  want  to  miss  the  fighting,  but  I'm  sick  of  the 
Commune  as  it  is  here  in  Paris." 

He  walked  the  length  of  the  garden  once  or  twice,  his  head 
sunk  on  his  breast,  his  gloved  hands  clasped  nervously 
behind  him.     Philip  watched  him  in  silence. 

"  How  is  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  ?  "  said  Wilton, 
abruptly,  coming  up  beside  the  easel  and  glancing  at  the 
sketch. 

"  Well,"  replied  Philip, — "  I  must  try  to  find  a  way  to  get 
her  to  Chartres." 

"  You  had  better  stay  here  quietly  for  a  while,"  said 
Wilton.     "  Is  she  very  impatient  to  go  ?  " 

'  No,  she  is  very  patient  and  reasonable,  but  of  course  I 


128  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

know  how  she  feels.     It's  no  kind  of  a  position  for  a  young 

girl  to  be  in,  cooped  up  alone  with  a  man " 

'  It  might  have  been  worse,"  said  Wilton,  gravely  ;  "  she 
can  thank  her  lucky  stars  that  you  are  here.  Is  that  a  sketch 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  glancing  critically  at  his  canvas  ; 
"  she  was  good  enough  to  pose  for  me  on  the  edge  of  the 
fountain  there.  She  went  in  about  half  an  hour  ago  to 
do  some  sewing.  What  do  you  think  of  the  sketch, 
Archie  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  an  officer  I  should  say  it  is  first-rate.  Remember 
I  have  lost  my  right  to  criticise  you  as  a  brother  artist." 

"  Nonsense  ! — 1  think  that  the  colour  is  very  decent,  but 
it  doesn't  compose  as  well  as  it  might." 

"  It  will  when  3'ou  have  worked  more  on  the  figure.  Whv 
don't  you  put  that  cat  in  ?  "  Landes  turned.  Tcherka  sat 
staring  at  them  from  behind  a  lilac  bush. 

"  Perhaps  I  will,"  said  Landes,  smiling,  "  only  don't  you 
think  her  colour  would  rather  knock  out  the  scheme  ?  " 

"  Oh,  1  don't  know,  you  were  always  a  better  colourist  than 
I  was.  I  don't  know  much  about  colour  except  in  uniforms. 
How  do  you  like  mine  ?  " 

"  You  asked  me  that  before,"  laughed  Philip.  "  I  like  it, 
but  I  must  say  1  don't  care  for  the  dark  breeches  with  that 
orange-red  stripe.  The  red  breeches  of  the  Line  are  much 
handsomer,  I  think.  The  soldiers  of  the  Commune  are 
gotten  up  rather  regardless,  though." 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Wilton,  "  you  should  see  the  Polish  cavalry 
and  the  Hussars  of  Death.  Well,  I'm  going.  Good-bye,  old 
chap." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  Landes  grasped  it.  "  Good-bye, 
Archie,  I  hope  you  will  come  out  of  this  all  right.  Don't  be 
rash.     Imprudence  isn't  bravery." 

"  I  might  say  the  same  to  you,  old  fellow,"  said  Wilton  ; 
"  good-bye,  and  if  you  should  see  Ynes " 

"  I'll  know  what  to  say,"  replied  Landes.  "  Take  care  of 
yourself." 

So  Archie  Wilton  of  New  York  City,  twenty-one  years  of 
age,  went  away  to  command  a  mob  of  fanatics  as  dangerous 
to  each  other  and  to  their  officers  as  to  the  enemy  ;  and 
Landes  sat  down  to  resume  his  sketch. 

As  yet  he  had  scarcely  covered  the  canvas,  but  the  effect 


IN    A    GARDEN  12 g 

was  charming.  On  the  edge  of  the  low,  circular  stone  basin 
Jeanne  de  Brassac  was  seated,  one  slender  hand  resting  on  the 
gray  stone,  the  other  dipping  idly  in  the  water.  The  back- 
ground, almost  conventionalized,  was  formed  by  the  white 
wall  of  the  garden  flecked  with  shadows  from  the  budding 
lilac  bushes.  The  sketch  was  redolent  of  spring-time. 
Away  up  in  one  corner  a  strip  of  sky,  robin's-egg-blue,  peeped 
between  the  almond-tree  branches,  the  warm  spring  sunlight 
fell,  dappling  and  spotting  the  path  in  the  foreground. 

The  figure  of  Jeanne  de  Brassac,  beautifully  drawn  but  not 
yet  modelled,  was  the  incarnation  of  youth  and  spring-time. 
Her  bright  curly  hair  was  blown  across  her  cheeks,  and  her 
eyes,  her  beautiful  violet  eyes,  were  raised  with  a  half-veiled 
smile,  which  made  Philip's  breath  come  in  catches  when  he 
looked  at  them. 

"  It's  devilish  good,  by  Jove  !  "  he  muttered  to  himself  ; 
"  it  will  compose  all  right  if  I  light  up  the  path  and  swing  it 
about  a  bit.  But  we  won't  drag  in  the  yellow  cat,"  he 
added,  laughing  to  himself. 

Tcherka,  who  had  been  sharpening  her  delicate  claws  on  the 
almond  trees,  came  up  to  be  caressed,  and  got  a  dab  of  crimson 
on  the  end  of  her  tail  from  Philip's  palette. 

"  What  a  nuisance  you  are,"  laughed  Landes,  "  keep  your 
confounded  tail  out  of  my  paints." 

Tcherka  started  to  lick  the  colour  off,  but  Philip  seized  her 
with  one  hand  and,  picking  up  a  rag,  dipped  it  in  the  turpen- 
tine and  attempted  to  remove  the  crimson  lake.  To  his 
horror  the  turpentine  spread  the  colour  half-way  up  the  cat's 
tail,  dyeing  the  fur  a  brilliant  crimson,  and  then,  the  turpen- 
tine reaching  the  skin,  the  cat  sprang  out  of  his  arms  with  an 
indignant  squall  and  flew  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  where  she 
made  enormous  eyes  at  him  and  switched  her  gaudy  tail  in 
fury. 

"  What  a  shame  !  Is  that  how  you  amuse  yourself  when 
I  am  away,  Monsieur  ?  "  said  a  clear,  bantering  voice  behind 
him,  and  Jeanne  de  Brassac  stepped  to  his  side  and  pointed 
tragically  to  Tcherka's  brilliant  tail. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Landes,  rising  from  his  easel,  "  but 
she  insisted  on  assuming  the  colours  of  the  Commune.  It  will 
wear  off  in  time.     I  thought  you  were  going  to  sew  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  sewing,  and  I  am  tired  of  it.  I  came  to  see 
what  mischief  you  were  engaged  in." 


T30  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  You  are  too  late — the  cat  is  a  hopeless  rebel.  Heaven 
save  her  from  Monsieur  Thiers  !  " 

Jeanne  looked  up  at  Tcherka  with  a  sigh.  '  My  poor  little 
Tcherka,  my  poor  abused  little  pussy,"  she  said,  "come  down 
this  minute  and  see  your  mistress  !  " 

But  Tcherka  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  persuasion  and 
presently  marched  away  to  a  sunny  angle  on  the  broad  wall 
where  she  could  survey  the  garden  and  keep  an  eye  on  the 
blackbird. 

Jeanne  turned  and  looked  at  the  sketch  on  the  easel. 

"  Do  you  approve  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  Very  much,"  she  replied  warmly. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  will  give  me  another  sitting  ?  ' 

"When,  now?  " 

"  If  you  will." 

She  went  over  to  the  fountain  and  sat  down  on  the  edge, 
looking  at  him  over  her  shoulder  with  a  faint  smile.  "  As 
many  as  you  wish,  Monsieur,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I  may  begin  other  pictures  of  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  care  to." 

"  Indeed  I  do  !  "  he  cried  enthusiastically. 

"  Is  this  the  right  position  ?  " 

"  Yes, — the  head  was  a  little  more  this  way, — now — there 
— that  is  just  right.     Are  you  comfortable  ?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

Then  he  began  to  paint,  chatting  with  her  and  leaning  back 
occasionally  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  ensemble. 

She  watched  him  curiously  when  he  stopped  to  reset  his 
palette,  and  followed  with  her  eyes  each  curling  string  of 
colour  as  it  coiled  up  in  its  place  on  the  porcelain.  First 
came  a  big  blot  of  silver  white,  then  in  the  order  of  the  rain- 
bow, red,  orange,  yellow,  green,  blue,  indigo,  and  violet,  in 
tints  and  shades  of  wonderful  beauty. 

He  placed  the  colours  on  the  canvas  with  a  single,  quick, 
almost  nervous  touch,  and  she  noticed  that  he  did  very  little 
m;x;ng  on  his  palette,  but  painted  in  almost  pure  colour, 
producing  the  tone  he  wanted  by  laying  over  the  fresh  colour 
other  colours  as  pure  and  unmixed. 

He  chatted  along  all  the  time,  and,  noticing  that  she  was 
interested  in  the  mechanical  part  of  the  process,  explained  to 
her  how  it  was  that  he  had  chosen  to  paint  in  a  manner  which 
would  have  brought  tears  of  despair  to  an  Academician's  eyes. 


IN    A    GARDEN  13 1 

"  It's  the  sunlight  that  I  am  so  in  love  with,  the  sunlight 
playing  on  soft  human  flesh.  You  can't  get  that  by  the  dark 
muddy  colours  of  the  studio  ;  you  need  all  the  hues  and 
colours  of  the  rainbow  to  form  a  light  which  is  white  and 
brilliant  enough.  In  the  open  air  shadows  are  not  black, — 
they  are  transparent  and  gray,  tinged  with  the  colours  of  the 
sky  and  the  surrounding  objects.  In  the  studio  everything 
is  dull  and  subdued,  and  pitched  in  a  calm,  quiet  key.  In  the 
open  air,  especially  on  a  sunny  day,  the  key  of  nature  is 
pitched  ver}'  high,  and,  with  all  the  resources  of  the  most 
brilliant  palettes,  we  can  only  parody  the  limpid  light  of  the 
sky  and  the  depth  of  the  sunshine.  I  do  not  paint  as  I 
learned  to  paint  in  the  schools,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  and  many 
people  think  I  am  crazy  on  colour." 

'  I  do  not,"  replied  Jeanne  de  Brassac,  with  a  quick, 
sympathetic  smile  ;  "I  think  I  understand  your  work 
perfectly.  To  me  your  colour  is  wonderfully  true  and 
beautiful." 

He  glanced  up  delighted  and  somewhat  astonished. 

"  Tell  me  more  about  it,"  she  said. 

The  light  was  still  good  but  waning  when  Toodles  fell  into 
the  fountain.  He  had  been  having  one  of  his  daily  inter- 
views with  the  goldfish.  He  tried  to  smell  them  and  got 
water  up  his  nose.  They  looked  at  him  fixedly,  and  slowly 
sank  to  the  bottom.  He  found  their  manner  of  doing  this 
even  more  insulting  than  usual,  and,  barking  wildly,  stumbled 
over  the  edge  and  in.  After  he  had  been  dragged  out  by 
Philip  and  gently  slapped  by  his  mistress,  he  tried  to  shake 
himself  over  the  painter  and  his  canvas.  Foiled  at  that  he 
had  joyously  rolled  himself  on  the  gravel- walk,  grinding  the 
dirt  and  sticks  into  his  coat,  and  had  then  been  picked  up  by 
the  neck  and  soused  again  in  the  fountain. 

"  Come,"  said  Philip,  taking  Toodles  in  one  hand  and  his 
easel  in  the  other,  "  the  sun  is  too  low  for  any  more  work. 
Shall  we  go  in  ?  " 

Laughing  at  the  drenched  puppy  dangling  limp  from 
Philip's  hand,  they  ran  up  the  steps  into  the  studio. 

'  You  are  a  very  bad  dog,  and  will  probably  die  of  cold," 
said  Jeanne,  kissing  him  and  planting  him  before  the  fire, 
where  he  at  once  flopped  over  and  rolled  his  eyes. 

Tcherka  marched  in  presentty  and  sat  with  her  illuminated 
tail  tucked  under  her  flank.     Joseph  came  and  lighted  the 


132  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

lamp,  went  out  again,  and,  by  the  time  he  returned  with  the 
dinner,  the  eaily  March  twilight  had  deepened  to  a  still 
black  starless  night. 

'  Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for  Mademoiselle  ?  " 
asked  Joseph,  when  the  table  was  cleared  and  he  stood  at  the 
door  waiting  to  say  good-night. 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,  Joseph,"  she  replied. 

"  Monsieur  Philip  ?  " 

"  No  ;   is  there  any  news  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur.     1  renewed  my  pass  for  the  barricade." 

"  Very  well— that  is  all." 

"  Alors,  bon  soir,  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac,  bon  soir, 
Monsieur  Philip,  et  bien  le  bon  soir,"  smiled  Joseph,  shuffling 
amiably  out  of  the  door. 

"  Good-night,  Joseph,"  they  called  out  together. 

When  Joseph's  steps  had  died  away  down  the  alley,  the 
quiet  seemed  even  more  perfect  than  usual ;  neither  felt  like 
speaking.  Presently  Jeanne  rose  and  walked  to  the  great 
window  overlooking  the  garden,  pressing  her  face  against  the 
pane.  Philip  raised  his  head  from  his  book  and  watched  her. 
The  fire  burned  dimly  and  he  stooped  to  lift  a  stick  across  the 
andirons.  A  shower  of  crackling  sparks  whirled  up  the 
chimney,  and  presently  the  new  log  caught  fire  and 
blazed  up  in  a  sheet  of  yellow  flame,  which  set  the  shadows 
trembling  on  wall  and  ceiling.  Philip  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
closed  his  book,  and  stared  at  the  snapping  sparks.  He  was 
thinking  01  Jeanne.  What  a  fate  had  been  hers  !  What  had 
fate  in  store  for  her  ?  Would  he  ever  have  a  chance  to  cross 
the  river  and  look  for  her  diamonds  in  their  naive  hiding- 
place  ?  What  a  place  to  put  them  ! — like  a  child  playing 
Hide  the  Handkerchief  !  She  was  a  child — almost.  If  the 
pistol  had  been  examined  and  the  contents  removed,  as  was 
almost  certain,  then  Jeanne  de  Brassac  was  nearly  penniless. 
She  would  have  to  sell  her  home  in  Chartres  and  live  some- 
where very  modestly.  Those  old  chateaux  brought  little 
money  when  sold  in  1871.  Few  people  cared  to  buy  or  could 
afford  to  buy  so  soon  after  the  war. 

He  thought  of  his  own  snug  little  income,  and  flushed  to 
realize  how  useless  it  must  be  to  her.  He  remembered 
bitterly  the  money  he  had  wasted,  money  which  saved  would 
have  bought  the  Chateau  de  Brassac  at  a  fair  price.  And 
then  !     He  knew  that  she  could  not  have  accepted  it  from 


IN    A    GARDEN  1 33 

him  in  any  case.  He  looked  wistfully  at  her,  standing  silent 
with  her  face  against  the  black  window.  How  slim  and 
young  she  seemed,  how  childlike  her  small  head  and  the  soft 
curve  of  her  cheek  ! 

Her  hands,  loosely  clasped  behind  her,  gleamed  white  as 
marble  in  the  dusk  of  the  extension.  He  thought  of  the 
slender  child's  hand  as  it  lay  on  her  mother's  shoulder  that 
Christmas  Eve  so  long  ago.  Then  he  thought  of  Victor,  with 
his  lovable  nature  and  splendid  talents,  his  fair  hair  and  dark 
eyes,  his  pride  and  triumph,  as  he  cried,  "  Philip,  I  have  won 
the  Prix  de  Rome  !  " 

He  turned  to  the  fire  with  an  impatient  movement.  '  It's 
only  useless  fools  like  me  that  live  forever  !  "  he  said  to  him- 
self. A  lonely,  desolate  feeling  had  been  slowly  taking 
possession  of  him  ;  blue  devils  settled  down  in  swarms,  and 
he  did  not  resist. 

"  What  have  I  done  that  is  any  good  ?  "  he  mused.  "  How 
do  I  know  that  I  have  any  talent  ?  I  can  paint — but  my  ideas 
of  colour  may  be  all  wrong.  How  do  I  know  that  I'm  not 
making  a  fool  of  myself  with  my  theory  of  light  impinging  on 
shadow  and  my  vibrating  colour  fad  ?  And  what  sort  of  a 
man  am  I  ?  I  have  no  religion,  no  faith,  no  morals — if  I  live 
decently,  it's  fastidiousness,  not  principle.  And  who  is 
there  in  the  world  to  care  if  I  die  ?  If  I  had  a  family — but  I 
haven't.  Ellice  would  care.  I'd  give  all  I'm  worth  to  know 
what  has  become  of  Ellice  ?  Yes,  he'd  care.  But  he'd  be 
playing  billiards  the  next  week.  Faustine  would  care — I 
don't  want  to  think  of  Faustine.  Archie  Wilton  would  be 
sorry, — ten  minutes,  and  Alain  de  Carette  would  remember 
me  all  his  life — if  he  isn't  lying  somewhere  with  a  sabre 
bayonet  in  him.  What  am  I  snivelling  and  pitying  myself 
about,  anyway  ?  I've  got  all  I  deserve."  He  shook  himself 
and  stood  up  with  decision. 

"  Jeanne,"  he  called,  "  isn't  it  a  bit  cold  over  there  in  the 
dark?  '  She  turned  toward  him,  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes 
like  violec  stars.  Then  she  came  and  sat  down  in  the  arm- 
chair before  the  blaze. 

"  Don't  be  unhappy,  Jeanne,"  he  said  almost  timidly. 

"  I,  unhappy  ?  "  she  asked  ;   "  why,  I  have  been  thinking 
how  happy  I  am.     I  was  thinking  that  I  love  the  studio, 
Philip." 
He  was  so  completely  taken  by  surprise  that  he  sat  gazing 


134  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

at  her  until  she  laughed  ouL.  It  was  a  sweet,  innocent,  child- 
like laugh,  that  chased  all  the  gloom  from  his  heart.  His 
eyes  cleared. 

'  And  you  were  not  standing  alone  over  there,  feeling 
terribly  downcast  ?  " 

"  I  was  trying  to  realize  that  it  is  less  than  a  fortnight  since 
I  came  here ;  I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  it  all  my  life.  Oh,  do 
you  ask  me  if  I  am  unhappy  here  ?  I  was  taken  by  force  to  a 
dreadful  place,  insulted,  threatened  by  brutal  men,  in 
expectation  of  death  ; — then  you  come  and  bring  me  here.  It 
was  like  heaven  when  I  first  came,  after  those  terrible  days, — 
now  it  is  like  home." 

Landes  could  not  answer.  He  had  never  imagined  any- 
thing so  delightf ul  as  this. 

'  There  was  one  thing,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  thought 
about  which  was  less  pleasant." 

"  And  that  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

'  That  was  the  certainty  that  yoa  must  be  bored,  shut  up 
so  long  here  with  no  one  to  talk  to  but  a  girl." 

"  I  have  never  been  so  happy  in  my  life." 

"  Very  well — I  believe  you  for  the  present.  But  you  will 
be  bored  very  soon,  if  you  are  not  amused.  I  shall  play  to 
you,  Monsieur,"  she  announced,  rising  and  going  to  the  piano. 

After  all,  she  sat  so  long  looking  at  the  keys  without  touch- 
ing them  that  Philip  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  when  she 
began  to  prelude,  and  then,  with  a  glance  over  her  shoulder, 
she  played  the.  Song  of  the  Blackbird.  Playing  b}'  ear  seemed 
a  miracle  to  Landes,  and  he  was  very  much  astonished  at 
what  was  reallv  a  very  simple  performance. 

"  Our  bird,""  she  said,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  What  else 
shall  I  play,  Philip  ?  " 

"  Play  as  you  have  been  playing,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Her  eyes  questioned  his  an  instant.  "  I  understand,"  she 
murmured. 

Under  her  touch  the  chords  began  to  swell  and  sway  like 
the  waves  of  a  tossing  ocean.  He  heard  the  surf  curling 
among  the  rocks,  he  heard  the  wind  blowing  over  leagues  of 
moorland,  and  then,  as  the  wind  died  away,  some  strange 
sea-bird  uttered  a  note,  wild  and  monotonous. 

He  heard  rain  falling  on  a  vast  grassy  plain,  dripping  cease- 
lessly into  the  soft  earth,  or  splashing  on  the  bosom  of  shallow 
lakes.     He  heard  a  brook,  hidden  at  first  in  subterranean 


IN    A    GARDEN  1 35 

depths,  tinkling  among  rocks,  welling  up  from  the  earth 
through  bubbling  spring  pools,  chattering  away  over  pebbly 
reaches  toward  an  ocean  whose  dull  roar  came  from  a  distance. 

Then  a  lark  carolled  faintly  among  the  parting  clouds,  the 
sun  flashed  out  in  splendour,  and  the  grasses  were  humming 
with  insect  life.  Far  afield  crickets  were  chirping,  all  the 
small  creatures  of  the  meadows  droned  a  rhythmic  chorus, 
until  the  wind  died  away  and  the  stillness  of  the  mid-day  heat 
was  only  broken  by  the  prattle  of  the  brook. 

It  was  the  overture  to  "  Sylvia  Elven,"  the  new  opera. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  as  though  a  forest  full  of  birds  were 
singing,  and  then,  rising  clear  and  sweet  above  the  trills  of  the 
feathered  choir,  came  the  first  wonderful  notes  of  Sylvia's  aria. 

Jeanne  was  singing  the  "  Hawthorn  Song." 

"  Flower  of  the  heath, 
Sway  and  bend  ;    I  weave  my  wreath, 

Blossom  of  thyme, 
Life  is  love  ;    I  wreathe  my  rhyme. 

Flower  of  the  thorn, 
Life  is  love  and  love  is  born. 

Blossom  of  moss. 
Sorrow  is  dead.     I  drop  my  cross. 

Flower  of  heather, 
Death  and  I  have  talked  together. 

Blossom  of  weed. 
Death  has  fled  on  his  snow-white  steed. 

Flower  of  the  May, 
Love  and  I  have  said  him  nay. 

Blossom  of  rue. 
Shadow  of  fear  no  more  I  knew. 

Flower  of  heath, 
Sway  and  bend,  I  weave  my  wreath." 

Then  her  mood  changed.  He  heard  the  soft  clash  of 
Moorish  cymbals,  the  swaying  cadence  of  young  voices,  the 
hollow  rumble  of  the  Nautch  drum.  A  reed  pipe  took  up  the 
melody,  which  soared  away  among  palms,  by  rivers  hurrying 
through  whispering  rushes.  Imperceptibly  the  notes  of  the 
pipes  grew  softer,  and  now  it  was  a  Breton  herdsman  blowing 
a  quaint  mimicry  of  a  chceur  de  chasse.  Then  the  hunting 
horns  rang  out,  the  branches  snapped  and  cracked  under  the 
K 


I36  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

heavy  rush  of  a  boar,  and,  as  the  chase  passed,  pack  in  full 
cry  and  horns  clanging  the  "  game  afoot,"  the  chimes  from  a 
hidden  chapel  came  quavering  on  the  October  wind,  lingering, 
ringing  faintly  long  after  silence  had  fallen  in  the  forest. 

She  came  quietly  from  the  piano  and  he  raised  his  head. 
For  a  while  they  looked  at  each  other  ;  then  Tcherka  arched 
her  back  and  yawned,  and  the  puppy  gurgled  and  thumped 
the  floor  with  his  tail. 

"  It's  a  sleepy  time,"  said  Jeanne,  with  a  timid  smile. 

He  rose  and  she  held  out  her  fair  hand.  Silently,  bending 
low  before  her,  he  touched  her  ringers  with  his  lips. 

And  as  they  stood,  smiling,  lingering,  strangely  moved, 
from  the  distant  street  came  the  booming  of  drums  and  the 
trampling  of  a  multitude. 

Then  the  bugles  pealed  the  "  alert,"  the  drums  rolled  like 
distant  thunder,  and  a  thousand  deep  voices  rose  in  one  long 
wavering  cheer,  "  Vive  la  Commune  !  " 

It  was  the  new  battalion  replacing  the  old  at  the  barricades 
in  the  Rue  Notre-Dame. 


THE    COMMUNE    MOVES  137 

CHAPTER    XI 

The  Commune  Moves 

On  the  morning  of  the  twenty-second  of  March,  the  day  fixed 
for  the  elections  in  Paris,  a  large  square  placard  printed  in 
bold  type  appeared  on  every  wall  in  the  city.  This  was  its 
tenor  : 


TO    THE    ELECTORS 

OF    PARIS. 

Whereas  :     the    convocation    of 

the   electors    is    an    act 

of  National  sovereignty. 

Whereas  :    the  exercise  of  that 

sovereignty  belongs  only 

to  the  powers  emanating  from  universal  suffrage. 

It  follows  :    that  the  Committee  now  installed  in  the 

Hotel  de  Ville  has  neither  right  i 

lor  power  for  such  con- 

vocation. 

Therefore,    the    representatives    of    the    undersigned 

journals  consider  the  convocation 

placarded  for  the  22nd  of 

March  null  and  void,  and  counsel  their  readers  to  pay  it 

no  attention. 

Present  and  approving  : 

Journal  des  Debats. 

Constitutionnel. 

Elector  Libre. 

Petite  Presse. 

Verit6. 

Figaro. 

Gaulois. 

Paris-Journal. 

Petit  National. 

Petit  Moniteur. 

Siecle. 

Presse. 

Temps. 

Soir. 

France. 

Libert  e. 

Pays. 

National. 

Univers. 

Cloche. 

Pa  trie. 

Francais. 

Bien   Public. 

Union. 

Opinion  Nationale. 

Journal    des    Villes 

Journal  de  Paris. 

et  Campagnes. 

France  Nouvelle. 

Moniteur  Universe  I . 

Monde. 

Gazette  de  France. 

Around  each  placard  excited  groups  gathered,  occasionally 
broken  up  and  dispersed  by  platoons  of  the  National  Guard, 
but  only  to  collect  again  and  discuss  the  placard  inewords  and 
gestures  wliich  every  moment  grew  more  violent.  When,  at 
times,  the  placards  were  torn  down  and  the  crowd  retreated 


138  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

from  the  glittering  bayonets,  before  the  tumult  fairly  sub- 
sided, other  placards  would  mysteriously  appear  in  the  place 
ol  those  destroyed. 

This  splendid  protest  of  the  Paris  press  fell  like  a  bombshell 
among  the  members  of  the  Central  Committee  and  their 
adherents  who  occupied  the  H6tel  de  Ville.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  twenty  years  that  the  press  of  Paris,  emasculated  and 
corrupted  under  the  Empire,  had  raised  its  united  voice  in 
support  of  a  principle.  The  effect  of  the  protest  was  instant 
and  decisive.  The  Commune  was  profoundly  stirred,  and 
the  "  party  of  order,"  which  had  kept  very  quiet  since  its 
timid  leader  had  fled  to  Versailles,  now  saw  that  it  had  in  the 
city  an  ally  and  a  bulwark — the  loyal  press.  Groups  formed 
in  the  streets,  meetings  were  held  in  the  open  air,  loyal 
battalions  offered  their  services,  and  evervwhere  in  the  centre 
of  Paris  the  people  of  the  best  quarters  united  their  voices 
with  the  dignified  protest  of  the  press. 

Most  of  the  mairies  were  occupied  by  moderate  republicans, 
and  these  gentlemen  made  it  known  that  they  would  not 
abdicate  in  the  presence  of  the  rebellion,  neither  would  they 
lend  their  aid  to,  nor  countenance,  any  election  fixed  for  the 
22nd  of  March.  Three  wards  of  the  city  even  had  the  courage 
to  hoist  the  tricolour  ;  they  were  the  wards  of  Saint-Germain 
l'Auxerrois,  Rue  de  la  Banque,  and  the  Rue  Druot.  These 
three  quarters  are  situated  in  the  very  heart  of  all  that  is 
elegant  and  learned  and  fashionable  in  Paris,  and  their  action 
troubled  the  insurgents  of  the  H6tel  de  Ville. 

These  events  were  known  in  Versailles  almost  as  soon  as  in 
Paris,  for  communication  between  the  Capitol  and  the  city 
in  which  the  National  Assembly  was  sitting  had  not  been 
entirely  cut  off.  Fugitives  from  Paris  brought  the  news  of 
the  sudden  change  in  the  political  situation.  The  Assembly, 
during  its  first  sitting,  remembering  perhaps  the  number  of 
faults  it  had  committed  in  the  past,  voted  without  hesitation 
to  give  Paris  the  right  to  elect  a  municipal  government  for 
herself.  At  one  time  even,  urged  by  several  notabilities  of 
the  Left,  such  as  Victor  Schoelcher  and  Louis  Blanc,  they 
almost  believed  that  they  could  arrive  at  an  understanding 
with  the  Hdtel  de  Ville.  Negotiations  were  opened  and 
envoys  sent  from  Versailles.  MM.  Tirard,  C16menceau,  and 
ethers,  mayors  and  deputies  at  the  same  time,  were  active  in 
trying  to  effect  a  reconciliation,  but  from  the  very  first  it  was 


THE    COMMUNE    MOVES  139 

plain  that  the  Commune  was  not  in  earnest.  The  insurgents 
would  listen  to  nothing  reasonable,  and  they  refused  on  any 
terms  to  quit  their  places.  Thiers  was  very  patient  with 
them,  but  it  was  the  patience  of  an  old  fox  with  a  farmer  who 
has  him  fast  by  the  leg.  Give  the  fox  time  and  he  can  twist 
around  and  bite.  Thiers  wanted  time.  To  crush  the  in- 
surrection, as  it  now  appeared  in  all  its  appalling  proportions, 
he  needed  50,000  troops.  On  the  20th  of  March  he  had  only  a 
third  of  that  number,  but  every  day  thousands  of  troops  were 
arriving  from  the  325,000  prisoners  of  the  Franco-Prussian 
war,  and,  although  they  were  worn  out  from  long  suffering 
and  captivity,  badly  clothed,  unarmed,  and  unclassed,  it 
was  plain  that  with  time  they  could  be  welded  into  a  powerful 
and  compact  army.     So  Monsieur  Thiers  was  very  patient. 

On  the  other  hand  the  "  party  of  order  "  in  Paris  lost  what 
little  faith  it  had  retained  in  Adolphe  Thiers,  and  declared 
that  its  patience  was  at  an  end.  Day  by  day  the  Com- 
munistic revolt,  which  at  first  pretended  to  justify  itself  in 
the  cry  of  "  Municipal  Liberty,"  was  taking  a  sinister 
character,  anything  but  French.  Every  day  the  alarmed 
inhabitants  of  Paris  saw  new  actors  enter  the  scene.  The 
Hotel  de  Ville  had  become  a  revolutionary  headquarters. 
Strange,  suspicious  creatures  haunted  it  :  Polish  dragoons  in 
full  uniform,  with  tasselled  boots  and  flapping  cloaks  ;  Gari- 
baldians  in  red  shirts,  plumed  hats,  and  enormous  spurs  ; 
"  Hussars  of  Death  "  in  the  fantastic  panoply  which  has  made 
their  hideous  trapping  an  omen  of  violence  and  terror.  With 
crepe  on  their  arms,  revolvers  in  their  belts,  and  long  sabres 
dangling,  these  strange  creatures  rode  like  nightmares  through 
the  dimly-lighted  streets,  or  stalked  silently,  two  by  two, 
enveloped  in  their  vast  mantles.  At  night  the  cafes  were 
crowded  with  motley  throngs  who  gambled  and  cursed,  and 
drank  with  women  of  the  most  abandoned  and  dangerous 
type.  Gold  was  poured  out  like  water,  orgies  awakened  the 
sober  inhabitants  whose  expostulations  were  received  with 
jeers  and  curses  and  an  occasional  plaj^ful  bullet.  The  Belle- 
ville battalions  marched  and  counter-marched  all  day,  blow- 
ing their  eternal  bugles  and  drumming  until  the  whole  city 
echoed  from  morning  until  night  with  one  terrific  ear- 
splitting  racket. 

A  terror  which  was  not  without  reason  seized  upon  the 
good  people  of  Paris. 


140  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Aie  these  bandits  paid  to  annoy  us  in  this  way  ?  "  they 
demanded  of  one  another.  The  answer  came  in  a  startling 
manner.  The  Central  Committee,  revolvers  levelled, 
"  borrowed  "  500,000  francs  from  the  Bank  of  France.  Then 
anger  and  fright  wrung  a  cry  of  protest  from  the  decent 
element  in  the  city.  A  great  meeting  of  the  peaceful  citizens 
of  Paris  was  called  for  the  22nd  of  March  in  front  of  the  New 
Opera.  It  was  to  be  a  silent  protest,  but  an  imposing  one. 
The  people  were  cautioned  to  bring  no  arms  and  to  utter  no 
hostile  cry.  They  were  to  march  quietly  through  the  streets, 
their  attitude  was  to  be  dignified  and  non-provocative,  and 
they  hoped  to  show  the  inhabitants  and  the  insurgent 
National  Guard  that  the  majority  of  the  bourgeoisie  were  not 
in  favour  of  the  violence  which  was  beginning  to  succeed  the 
brief  interval  of  quiet. 

All  the  morning  these  inoffensive  people  had  been  gather- 
ing before  the  Opera,  discussing  the  protest  of  the  press  and 
the  negotiations  with  Thiers.  By  noon  10,000  people  had 
gathered  and  still  more  were  flocking  in,  eager  to  take  part  in 
the  pacific  demonstration  which  they  hoped  the  Commune 
would  not  dare  disregard.  From  the  Place  de  1' Opera  they 
could  see,  through  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  the  formidable  barri- 
cade which  defended  the  Place  Vendome. 

The  Place  Vendome  had  been  transformed  into  a  fortress. 
Cannon  and  mitrailleuses  guarded  the  barricade  across  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix,  and  the  whole  square  swarmed  with  the 
troops  of  the  Commune.  Du  Bisson,  that  loud-mouthed 
renegade,  commanded  the  western  angle  of  the  square  ; 
Lullier,  the  southern  ;  and  the  commandant-in-chief, 
Bergeret,  occupied  the  centre  with  his  bullion-covered  staff. 
Bergeret,  clothed  in  a  costume  which  would  have  driven  an 
opera  tenor  crazy  with  jealousy,  sat  on  a  keg  in  the  middle  of 
the  square  and  eyed  the  throng  in  front  of  the  Opera  with  a 
self-satisfied  smile. 

"  If  they  come  this  way,"  he  said  to  Du  Bisson,  "  I'll  mow 
'em  down — only  wait  and  see  me  !  " 

Du  Bisson  stared  at  the  grotesque  and  ferocious  imitation 
of  Santerre  and  Rossi  gnol. 

"  You'd  better  wait  until  they  do  something  to  merit  it," 
he  answered  curtly  ;  "  study  your  orders  more  carefully, 
my  friend." 


THE    COMMUNE    MOVES  141 

'  I  want  no  advice,"  observed  Bergeret,  with  superb 
indifference. 

"  It's  better  than  rotten  eggs,"  said  Du  Bisson,  brusquely, 
and  turned  on  his  heel. 

This  allusion  to  an  episode  in  "  General  "  Bergeret's  career, 
made  that  opera-bouffe  warrior  turn  livid,  for  not  only  had  he 
once  been  a  painter  of  mediocrity,  but  at  one  time  he  had 
been  hissed  off  the  stage  of  a  fourth-rate  theatre.  Casting 
furious  glances  around  him  at  his  staff  to  see  if  anybody  was 
laughing,  he  got  up  and  marched  over  to  a  group  of  officers 
who  were  sitting  on  the  barricade  facing  the  Rue  de  la  Paix. 

"  Where  is  Colonel  Tribert  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Tribert  rose  and  saluted.  His  face  was  battered  out  of 
recognition,  but  his  little  eyes  burned  with  a  red  light  above 
the  mass  of  plaster  and  bandages,  and  he  held  himself  straight 
as  a  ramrod. 

"  Do  you  see  those  fools  gathering  there  in  front  of  the 
Opera  ?  "  demanded  Bergeret,  pompously. 

"  I  see,"  mumbled  Tribert. 

"  You  should  say,"  corrected  Bergeret,  frowning,  "  yes, 
General  Bergeret." 

"  Pardon.     Yes,  General  Bergeret." 

"  Have  you  a  glass  ?  " 

"  Here  is  one,  General,"  said  Sarre. 

Bergeret  took  the  glass  and,  steadying  it  across  the  top  of 
the  barricade,  gazed  eagerly  through  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  to 
the  Place  de  l'Opera. 

"  They  have  no  banners,"  he  said,  without  removing  his 
glass  ;  "  they  carry  no  arms  either.  It's  all  the  same.  If 
they  come  this  way,  Colonel  Tribert,  we  will  give  them  a  tune 
to  dance  to." 

Sarre  grinned  approval.  Bergeret  handed  the  glass  to 
Tribert,  and,  swelling  like  a  turkey-cock,  turned  slowly  once 
or  twice  as  if  he  were  on  a  pivot,  and  glanced  up  at  the 
windows  of  the  houses  which  faced  the  square  on  the  side  of 
the  H6tel  Continental.  There  were  no  ladies  to  admire  him, 
and  he  petulantly  ordered  that  all  the  windows  facing  the 
square  should  remain  shut.  As  he  spoke,  a  bay  window 
opposite  was  raised  and  two  gentlemen  stepped  into  the 
balcony,  conversing. 

"  Shut  that  window  !  "  shouted  Bergeret, 


142  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

One  of  the  gentlemen,  a  short  ruddy  little  fellow  with  very 
bright  eyes,  looked  at  him  calmly  for  a  moment,  then  quietly 
resumed  the  conversation  with  his  companion. 

'Do  you  hear  me?"  bellowed  Bergeret,  furious  and 
conscious  of  the  attention  of  his  entire  staff,  "  shut  that 
window  and  go  in  !  " 

The  short  ruddy-faced  gentleman  quietly  lighted  a  cigar, 
leaned  over  the  balcony,  and  observed  General  Bergeret  with 
an  amused  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Burnside,"  he  said  in  English  to  his  companion,  "  who 
is  that  jumping-jack  over  there  ?  " 

Du  Bisson,  seeing  something  was  wrong,  came  up  hurriedly. 
"  General,"  he  said,  "  be  careful  what  you  do  !  That  man  is 
General  Sheridan,  of  the  United  States  Army,  and  his  com- 
panion is  General  Burnside  !  " 

Bergeret  bit  his  lip  and  turned  on  his  heel.  Tribert's  red 
eyes  rested  a  moment  on  the  two  Americans  who  sat  smoking 
and  chatting  on  the  balcony.  Then,  with  an  ominous  frown, 
he  motioned  Sarre  to  his  side  and  began  a  whispered  conversa- 
tion in  which  Philip  Landes'  name  had  the  honour  of  being 
eulogized  in  the  choicest  of  Belleville  French.  Before  he  had 
finished  his  consultation,  a  bugle  call  from  the  centre  of  the 
square  brought  every  officer  to  his  feet.  Then  the  drums 
rattled  the  "  alarm  "  and  the  troops  fell  in  and  "  General  " 
Bergeret,  swelling  with  importance,  followed  by  his  grotesque 
staff,  marched  toward  the  eastern  section  of  the  barricade. 

"  What's  up  now  ?  "  grumbled  Tribert  ;  "  oh,  here  they 
come,  eh  ?     We'll  give  them  something  to  stir  them." 

Sarre  followed  his  superior's  eyes  and  saw  that  the  crowd 
which  had  been  gathered  in  front  of  the  Opera  was  in  motion, 
and  now,  headed  by  a  Line  soldier  without  arms  who  bore  the 
tri-colour  flag,  was  entering  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  making 
straight  for  the  Place  Vendome. 

At  an  order  from  Bergeret  the  troops  formed  a  square, 
officers  in  the  centre,  cannon  at  the  angles.  At  another  order, 
rifles  were  loaded  and  bayonets  fixed,  but,  knowing  their 
mission  to  be  peaceful,  the  procession  of  citizens  continued  to 
advance,  urging  each  other  to  remember  and  give  no  provo- 
cation. "  Vive  la  France  !  Vive  1'ordre  !  Vive  la  Garde 
Nationale  !  "  were  all  the  cries  which  they  permitted  them- 
selves. On  the  way,  thinking  that  possibly  the  sight  of  the 
blue  ribbons  which  many  wore  might  be  taken  as  a  pretext  for 


THE    COMMUNE    MOVES  143 

violence,  orders  were  given  to  remove  them.  On  they  came, 
gravely,  quietly,  until  the  foremost  rank  reached  the  barricade. 
Then  they  requested  the  National  Guard  to  let  them  pass,  as 
their  mission  was  harmless  and  peaceful.  Already  six  or 
seven  Federals  had  drawn  back  and  opened  their  ranks  with 
friendly  gestures,  when  suddenly  the  drums  rolled,  and  a 
strident  voice  was  heard,  loud,  frenzied,  dominating  the  crash 
of  the  drums,  uttering  terrible  menaces.  It  was  Bergeret, 
aping  the  custom  of  the  three  legal  summonses  to  disperse. 

The  citizens  stared  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

"  Ready  !  Aim  !  Fire  !  "  shrieked  this  ape  with  a  tiger's 
heart.  An  explosion  shook  the  barricade,  and  when  the 
smoke  rose,  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  was  a  ghastly  shambles.  With 
terror-stricken  cries  the  crowd  turned  and  fled,  trampling  over 
the  dead  and  wounded,  searching  vainly  for  a  place  of  satety. 
A  white-haired  old  man  fell  with  a  ball  between  his  eyes  ; 
a  young  woman  lay  groaning  on  the  sidewalk,  her  left  arm 
crushed  by  a  bullet.  Twenty  corpses  lay  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix,  and  sixty  people  bleeding  from  rifle  bullets  dragged 
themselves  toward  a  place  of  safety.  Twelve  corpses  lay  in 
one  heap  on  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Neuve  Saint- Agustin. 
A  doctor  wearing  the  brassard  of  the  ambulances  presented 
himself  at  the  barricade  to  help  the  wounded,  but  Bergeret 
cursed  him. 

"F nous  le  camp  !     On  n'a  pas  besoin  de  vous  !  " 

shouted  the  Colonel  of  the  80th  Battalion. 

"  Shoot  him  !  "  yelled  Tribert  ;  but  Bergeret  was  thinking 
of  other  things,  and  the  doctor  escaped  by  a  miracle. 

Sarre  sat  on  the  top  of  the  barricade  laughing  and  mimick- 
ing the  efforts  of  a  wounded  man  to  drag  himself  across  the 
pavement  to  a  doorway. 

"  He  walks  like  a  crab  !  "  he  chuckled,  holding  his  sides 
with  laughter.  Tribert  picked  up  a  rifle  and  blew  a  hole 
through  the  wounded  man's  head,  which  annoyed  Sarre, 
who  claimed  it  spoiled  the  sport. 

When  the  news  of  the  butchery  reached  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
the  extremists  in  the  Central  Committee  applauded  frantically 
and  shouted  their  approval.  Some  even  said  they  regretted 
that  Bergeret  had  not  been  able  to  "  slaughter  the  reaction 
with  one  blow."  On  amotion  of  Assi,  the  Committee  voted 
their  thanks  to  Bergeret  and  his  staff.  A  document  was 
drawn  up  and  signed  by  the  Committee,  and  a  Cavalier  of  the 


144  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Republic  left  at  full  gallop  to  carry  the  thanks  of  the  Com- 
mune to  the  Place  Vendome. 

Bergeret  was  radiant.  He  sat  on  his  powder  keg  receiving 
the  homage  of  his  officers,  while  at  a  little  distance  from  him 
Jules  Valles,  using  a  box  of  biscuits  as  a  desk,  sat  writing  his 
editorial  for  the  next  morning's  "  Cri  du  Peuple,"  a  villainous 
sheet  of  anarchism. 

It  was  that  same  vile  editorial  which  began  :  "  The  party 
of  order  having  a  fancy  for  disorder,  the  National  Guard 
brought  them  to  their  senses." 

Since  the  nineteenth  of  March  the  "  Pere  Duchene,"  a 
vulgar  parody  on  Hebert's  journal,  had  reappeared.  Its 
language  was  incredioly  obscene,  even  for  such  creatures  as 
Vermesch,  Humbert,  and  Villaume,  the  editors  of  this 
ignoble  sheet. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that,  when  the  news  of  the 
butchery  became  known  in  Paris,  the  city  was  thrown  into  a 
panic.  A  citizen,  decorated  with  the  legion  of  honour, 
accompanied  by  an  officer  of  the  National  Guard  and  a 
captain  of  Franchetti's  Scouts,  carried  the  tri-colour  through 
the  Boulevards  crying,  "  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  "  A  great 
throng  of  citizens  and  loyal  National  Guards  crowded  the 
Place  de  la  Bourse.  Everywhere  stores  and  cafes  closed  their 
shutters,  groups  formed,  and  orators  denounced  the  in- 
surgents. In  these  excited  gatherings  people  told  each  other 
that  it  was  useless  to  parley  with  banditti  who  carried  on 
systematized  assassination.  There  was  but  one  way  :  meet 
violence  with  violence.  The  news  reached  Versailles  and 
produced  a  profound  impression.  The  government  was  urged 
to  act.  Even  at  that  late  date,  a  sudden  coup  de  main  on  the 
part  of  Thiers  could  have  saved  the  city.  The  road  from 
Versailles  to  Paris  was  still  open,  it  was  easy  to  seize  the 
secteurs  between  Saint-Denis  and  the  gate  of  Auteuil  with 
the  10,000  men  available,  for  now  that  the  city  was  aroused 
Thiers  could  count  on  all  good  citizens  and  on  15,000  of  the 
loyal  National  Guards  for  active  aid. 

Even  the  Latin  Quarter  had  risen  and  6,000  students 
offered  their  services.  The  ficole  Polytechnique,  faithful  to 
its  honourable  traditions,  marched  in  a  body  to  the  mayor's 
office  and  enrolled  for  active  service. 

Time  passed,  but  no  word  came  from  Thiers.  Paris  was 
one  great  camp,  half  occupied  by  the  party  of  order,  half  held 


THE    COMMUNE    MOVES  145 

by  the  insurgents  of  the  Commune.  Wearied  at  last  with 
waiting  for  Thiers,  the  party  ot  order  began  negotiations  with 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  These  negotiations  lasted  until  the 
evening  of  the  twenty-filth,  and  on  that  night,  news  was 
proclaimed  that  a  day  had  been  agreed  upon  for  the  elections. 
They  were  fixed  for  the  twenty-sixth  of  March,  Sunday,  and 
the  party  of  order,  quieted  by  the  assurance  and  pledges 
given  by  the  Commune,  retired,  sent  the  students  back  to 
their  schools,  the  Polytechnique  battalion  to  its  college,  and 
disbanded  the  loyal  battalions  of  the  National  Guard. 

It  had  been  solemnly  agreed  that  as  soon  as  the  results  of 
the  elections  were  known,  the  Central  Committee  would 
evacuate  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  good  people  who  composed 
the  party  of  order  believed  this,  and  went  to  bed  on  Saturday 
night  with  light  hearts,  determined  to  do  their  duty  as 
citizens  at  the  polls  next  morning. 

At  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  however,  things  were  different  that 
night.  The  Central  Committee  was  making  merry,  and 
wine  flowed  in  rivers. 

"  What  fools  these  bourgeois  !  "  said  Assi  to  Billioray, 
who  smiled  in  reply. 

Raoul  Rigault,  very  drunk,  staggered  to  his  feet  and 
pointing  at  Bergeret  cried  :  "  There  is  the  man  who  filled 
them  full  of  good  lead  and  steel,  and  I  tell  you  that  I,  when 
my  time  comes,  will  not  be  behind  him  !  " 

The  fun  grew  fast  and  furious,  the  echoes  of  the  revelry 
reached  the  street  where  the  hideous  Hussars  of  Death  were 
on  guard  at  the  gates,  and  the  citizens,  passing  with  affrighted 
glances,  heard  these  fantastic  birds  of  ill-omen  croaking  to 
each  other  like  ravens  before  a  battle. 


CHAPTER    XII 

The  Shadow  of  Terror 

In  the  studio  the  days  succeeded  each  other  quietly.  Three 
times  a  week  Joseph  passed  and  repassed  the  barricade  on  his 
journey  to  the  St.  Germain  market,  but  he  was  never  molested 
by  the  new  battalion  which  occupied  the  Rue  Notre-Dame. 
The  battalion  was  certainly  a  strange  one.     The  troops  wore 


146  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

the  pale-blue  uniform  and  red  fez  of  the  Turco  infantry,  cut 
like  the  Zouave  uniform  and  resembling  it  in  all  but  colour. 
The  many-buttoned  gaiters  were  white,  the  body-scarf 
crimson,  and  the  arabesques  and  facings  on  the  turquoise 
blue  cloth  were  clear  canary  colour. 

It  was  known  as  the  "  First  Battalion  of  Paris  Turcos," 
and  Philip  learned  from  Joseph  that  its  colonel  was  an 
individual  named  Sarre,  "  a  merry,  rosy,  round  little  fellow," 
he  said,  "  whose  laugh  makes  one's  flesh  creep." 

But  Sarre  never  bothered  the  faithful  concierge,  nor  for 
that  matter  did  any  of  the  First  Turcos.  His  pass  was  in 
order,  his  mission  not  at  all  suspicious,  and  the  sentinels 
gossiped  with  him,  cracked  lurid  jokes  at  his  expense,  and 
gave  him  information  which  he  brought  back  each  day  to 
Philip. 

Paris  was  quiet, — with  the  quiet  of  a  victim  awaiting 
death.  The  army  at  Versailles  made  no  visible  movement, 
but  it  was  asserted  in  Paris  that  intrenchments  and  parallels 
were  being  pushed  in  the  direction  of  the  fort  of  Issy. 

There  were  rumours  of  an  intended  sortie  in  force  to  crush 
the  army  of  Thiers  before  it  could  be  strengthened  by  the 
prisoners  who  were  arriving  from  Germany. 

Bergerct  talked  loudly  and  added  several  ounces  of  gold 
braid  to  his  tunic  ;  Flourens,  brave,  shift}',  and  probably  a 
little  insane,  stalked  about  in  company  with  the  sinister, 
sneering  Billioray  ;  Duval  worked  night  and  day  with  Eudcs 
and  Cluseret  to  perfect  the  scheme  of  defence,  and  the  Central 
Committee  bickered,  accusing  each  other  and  everybody  they 
knew  of  being  "  suspects,"  until  denunciations,  midnight 
visits,  and  sudden  silent  arrests  terrified  the  revolutionists 
themselves.  Nobody  was  safe ;  nobody,  not  even  the 
generals  of  the  Commune,  not  even  the  members  of  the 
Central  Committee,  dared  face  an  accusation  until  they  could 
defend  themselves  by  a  counter  accusation.  Denunciations 
were  at  a  premium.  He  who  accused  most  violently  was  the 
greatest  patriot.  The  prisons  were  filling,  and  Raoul  Rigault 
raged  everywhere,  urging,  forcing,  driving  his  creatures  to 
spy,  shadow,  denounce,  and  arrest.  People  trembled  when 
he  passed  ;  even  his  own  friends,  even  the  members  of  the 
Commune  themselves,  would  avoid  meeting  him  in  the  street, 
if  possible.  All  day  long  he  sat  in  his  official  den,  surrounded 
by  his  satellites,  inquiring,  examining,  reproaching  the  un- 


THE    SHADOW    OF    TERROR  147 

fortunate  citizens  brought  before  him.  With  terrible  threats, 
or  still  more  terrible  laughter,  he  would  bellow,  "  Fiche-moi 
9a  dedans  !  "  and  the  prisoner  would  be  seized  and  driven 
with  taunts  and  blows  through  the  streets  to  one  of  the 
prisons. 

When  evening  came,  this  bloodthirsty  young  man  doffed 
his  scarf  of  office,  dusted  his  clothes,  and  went  home.  Here, 
"  business  "  finished,  he  affected  the  airs  of  a  dandy  ; 
perfumed  and  gloved,  he  and  his  familiars  dined  extrava- 
gantly at  some  fashionable  restaurant,  and  then,  crossing  the 
river  to  the  Latin  Quarter,  they  spent  the  evening  drinking 
with  degraded  women  in  front  of  the  cafes  on  the  Boulevard 
St.  Michel. 

Joseph,  bringing  to  Philip,  as  usual,  the  gossip  of  the  bani- 
cade,  related,  under  his  breath,  how  Raoul  Rigault,  drinking 
with  his  creatures  on  the  terrace  of  the  Cafe  Cardinal  the 
night  before,  had  criea  with  an  oath  :  "  I  need  a  bouquet  of 
30,000  heads  before  I  can  clean  out  the  traitors  !  "  The  cafe 
was  crowded  with  students  and  citizens  who  heard,  and  the 
next  day  the  city  knew  and  cowered  lower  than  ever. 

Of  the  rumours  brought  in  by  Joseph,  Landes  did  not 
prevent  many  from  reaching  Jeanne.  It  was  best  she  should 
know  the  truth,  and  he  had  unbounded  confidence  in  her 
spirit  and  judgment.  He  pondered  all  sorts  of  plans  for 
communicating  with  the  American  Minister,  but  they  came 
to  nothing,  and  he  tried  in  vain  to  get  messages  to  Jack 
Ellice  and  de  Carette.  He  had  nobody  to  trust  except 
Joseph  and  he  dared  not  draw  suspicion  upon  him,  because 
on  Joseph's  freedom  to  traverse  the  barricade  rested  their 
only  chance  for  food. 

So  the  days  passed  very  quietly  in  the  studio.  Tcherka's 
tail  was  still  too  gaudy  to  suit  her  mistress'  taste,  and  the 
puppy  dug  more  than  enough  holes  in  the  garden.  The  warm 
breath  of  the  coming  spring  started  the  pink  buds  on  the 
almond  trees,  the  lilac  leaves  uncoiled  in  delicate  green,  the 
goldfish  almost  became  animated,  and  the  blackbird  was 
wooing  his  mate,  a  soft-eyed  wild  creature  which  had  come 
into  the  garden  from  Heaven  knows  where,  and  sat  all  day  on 
the  tip  of  the  almond  tree.  Such  songs  as  the  blackbird 
sang  !  What  wonder  that  the  shy  newcomer  listened  ! 
Then  one  day  Jeanne  came  in,  radiant,  and  led  Philip  out  to 
the  almond  tree.     High  on  a  safe,  slender  branch  nestled  the 


148  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

rudiments  of  a  nest.  The  blackbird,  proud  and  happy, 
balanced  himself  above  it  and  held  a  bit  of  straw  in  his 
bright  yellow  bill.  The  lover  had  turned  architect.  It  is 
true  that  he  occasionally  forgot,  and  let  the  straw  or  twig  fall 
while  he  sang  a  little,  but  his  mate  never  found  fault  and  the 
building  of  their  little  home  continued.  Tcherka  licked  her 
whiskers  and  blinked  at  it.     It  was  too  safe. 

The  Rue  Notre-Dame  was  constantly  patrolled  by  the 
sentinels  of  the  First  Turcos. 

Philip  never  went  near  the  outer  wicket,  but  from  the 
entrance  to  the  ivy-covered  alley  he  could  see  them  without 
being  seen.  Once,  when  a  group  of  officers  passed,  he 
imagined  he  recognized  Sarre  in  a  fat  little  wretch  who  wore 
the  baggy  scarlet  trousers  of  the  Turco  officers,  with  the  triple 
blue  stripe,  the  gold-embroidered  kepi,  and  the  pale  blue 
jacket.  However,  the  officers  passed  without  a  glance  at  the 
wicket,  and  his  nervousness  gradually  wore  off. 

Jeanne  posed  for  him  every  day,  sometimes  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  stone  fountain,  sometimes  lying  in  a  hammock 
which  he  had  swung  for  her  between  the  almond  trees. 

When  showers  fell  she  posed  in  the  studio,  and  it  was  there 
that  he  began  and  finished  the  beautiful  portrait  called 
"  Youth,"  which  has  since  been  acquired  by  the  French 
Government. 

Jeanne  never  wearied  of  watching  Philip  while  he  painted. 
He  had  a  habit  of  biting  his  under  lip  when  he  worked  which 
gave  a  peculiarly  serious  expression  to  his  youthful  face. 
This  impressed  Jeanne.  From  the  first  she  had  no  doubt 
that,  if  Philip  was  not  already  one  of  the  greatest  of  artists, 
his  becoming  so  was  merely  a  question  of  time.  Her  admira- 
tion and  her  delight  in  his  colour  were  genuine.  Her 
enthusiasm  stirred  him  profoundly,  and,  perhaps,  but  for 
that,  the  portrait  of  "  Youth  "  might  never  have  been 
finished. 

Until  now  he  had  never  taken  himself  seriously.  Although 
his  respect  for  his  work  had  been  great  at  all  times,  Ins  self- 
confidence  was  incrusted  with  cynicism,  and  he  never  could 
understand  why  he  continued  to  study  his  profession. 

Sometimes  for  weeks  together  he  did  not  touch  a  brush  ; 
it  is  true  that  he  was  always  staring  at  the  sunlight  or  the 
blue  tracery  of  shadows.  Pure  notes  of  glowing  colour 
thrilled  him  with  pleasure.     Unlike  many  of  his  comrades, 


THE    SHADOW    OF    TERROR  149 

he  never  saw  in  nature  anything  unhealthy  or  colourless,  nor, 
when  he  walked  under  blue  skies,  did  nature  transpose  itself 
into  human  nature. 

He  read  the  poets  who  compared  the  interlacing  of  forest 
trees  to  human  embraces,  who  sang  of  innocent  flowers  and 
attributed  to  them  the  passions  of  human  beings,  and  it 
nauseated  him.  He  never  could  see  that  a  splendid  snow 
peak  resembled  a  woman's  breast.  It  always  looked  like  a 
snow  peak  to  him.  The  murmur  of  the  sea  had  for  him 
nothing  of  human  desire.     He  loved  nature  for  herself. 

Jeanne  and  he  exchanged  few  words  on  the  subject,  but 
each  was  sure  of  the  other's  sympathy  and  understanding. 

A  sunbeam  searching  the  depths  of  the  brown  water  in  the 
fountain,  a  shadow  trembling  on  the  white  wall,  a  breeze 
whispering  among  the  lilacs, — then  a  glance,  the  flutter  of  the 
lashes,  a  faint  smile,  and  their  hearts  were  at  ease,  for  each 
had  read  and  loved  the  other's  thoughts. 

When  Philip's  hand  faltered  and  the  light  was  shifty,  when 
the  sun  became  overcast  and  the  surface  of  his  canvas  changed 
colour  like  a  chameleon,  Jeanne  would  rise  from  her  seat  and 
say  :  "  Come,  Philip,  I  wish  to  walk  in  the  garden."  Then 
with  pretty  ceremony  she  would  accept  his  arm,  and  they 
would  stroll  gravely  over  the  gravel  as  if  they  were  sauntering 
through  a  portion  of  some  vast  estate. 

On  one  of  these  limited  tours  they  stopped  to  watch  a 
mottled  garden  toad  making  his  way  toward  a  hole  in  the  wall. 
His  gait  and  personality  were  obtrusive  and  vulgar,  and 
Jeanne  turned  up  her  nose. 

"  Oh,  he's  an  old  acquaintance,"  said  Philip,  "  he  comes 
out  every  spring." 

"  He  is  very  common,"  said  Jeanne  ;  "  I  never  imagined 
any  little  creature  of  God  could  look  so  underbred." 

"  He's  not  graceful,"  said  Philip,  smiling  ;  "  you  should 
see  him  jumping  after  gnats  on  a  summer  evening.  I  call 
him  '  Monsieur  Prud'homme.'  " 

"  What  a  name  for  a  toad  !  " 

"  It  suits  him.  See  !  he  has  just  given  one  of  his  graceful 
leaps." 

Jeanne  threw  back  her  pretty  head  and  laughed.  Monsieur 
Prud'homme  squatted  in  the  tender  spring  grass,  unconcerned, 
callous,  emotionless.  He  had  swallowed  a  giddy  young 
beetle  and  was  digesting  it.     Toodles  came  along  and  nearly 


150  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

barked  himself  out  of  his  skin  at  the  sight  of  Monsieur 
Prud'homme,  but  kept  at  a  safe  distance,  describing  eccentric 
circles  round  him  until  Philip,  gently  but  unceremoniously, 
shoved  Monsieur  Prud'homme  through  a  hole  in  the  garden 

wall. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  paint  any  more  ?  "  inquired  Jeanne. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  feel  lazy.  How  warm  the  sunshine 
is.     I  believe  those  lilacs  are  budding." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  that  yesterday,"  she  said.  "  There  is  a 
violet  already  out  in  that  bed  over  there.  I  saw  it  this 
morning  from  my  hammock." 

He  started  for  the  violet  bed,  but  she  called  to  him  :  "  You 
are  not  to  pick  it,  you  know."     He  came  back  smiling. 

"  Won't  you  have  it  for  a  souvenir  of  our  garden  ?  ' 

She  shook  her  head  and  sang  softly  : 

"  Le  souvenir,  present  celeste, 
Ombre  des  biens  que  Ton  n'a  plus, 
Est  encore  un  plaisir  qui  reste, 
Apres  tous  ceux  qu'on  a  perdus." 

"  I  don't  want  a  souvenir  now,  and  I  shall  not  need  one 
then." 

"  I  suppose  a  shade  is  all  that  will  remain  of  these  days  in 
a  little  while,"  said  Philip.  She  glanced  at  him  wistfully 
without  replying.     As  for  him,  he  was  looking  another  way. 

"  Well,"  she  said  at  last,  "  if  all  the  rest  is  lost  will  it  not  be 
good  to  have  even  the  shade  ?  " 

"  But  that  will  soon  go  too,  Jeanne." 

"  No,  I  shall  keep  it  as  long  as  I  live.  And  that  will  be  a 
long  time,"  she  added  lightly,  shaking  off  her  seriousness. 
"  I  mean  to  be  a  very  old  lady,  if  you  please,  Monsieur,  I 
intend  to  live  a  great  while  and  be  very  happy " 

A  violent  ringing  at  the  gate  interrupted  her.  She  turned 
white  and  looked  at  Philip  with  wide  startled  eyes. 

"  Now  who  can  that  be  ?  "  he  muttered.  "  Jeanne,  go 
back  to  the  studio  quickly." 

"  I  shall  remain  here,"  she  said,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
breath.     "  Oh,  Philip,  can  it  be  the  Commune  has  found 
. 
"  Me  ?     It  is  you  they  are  after." 

"  They  can't  harm  me,  but  you — oh,  Philip  !  ' 


THE    SHADOW    OF    TERROR  l3i 

"  Do  as  I  ask  you,  Jeanne,  go  to  your  room  at  once." 
She  refused  to  move  and  looked  at  him  imploringly. 

'  Can  you  get  over  the  wall  ?  "  she  whispered. — "  Quick  ! 
I'm  sure  you  can.  I  will  meet  them — I  can  detain  them. 
Oh  !    go,  Philip  !  " 

He  looked  down  into  her  face.  "  Won't  you  please  go 
into  the  studio  ?  " 

She  refused  with  a  slight  shake  of  her  head.  The  gate 
creaked,  steps  sounded  along  the  alley. 

'  They  are  coming  !  "  gasped  Jeanne,  and  threw  both 
arms  around  his  neck. 

Before  Jeanne  could  take  her  arms  away  again  a  man  in  a 
long  blue  blouse  flung  his  cap  on  the  ground  and  rushed  at 
Philip,  who  stared  at  him  and  shouted,  "  Ellice  !  "  and  while 
they  were  hugging  each  other  like  two  Frenchmen  she  had 
time  to  realize  that  the  man's  companion,  who  wore  the 
dress  of  a  market  woman  of  the  Halles,  was  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Brieuc. 

"  Jack  !  "  cried  Landes.     "  Are  you  all  right  ?  " 

"  I  am — and  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right.     Where  is  Alain  de  Carette  ?  " 

"  At  Versailles." 

"  How  did  you  pass  the  barricade  ?  " 

Jack  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain,  drew  a  large 
red  bandanna  handkerchief  from  the  recesses  of  his  blouse, 
wiped  his  face  with  it,  looked  after  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Brieuc,  who  was  disappearing  with  Jeanne  through  the 
studio  door,  and  laughed. 

"  We're  beauties, — what  do  you  think,  Philip  ?  We  sell 
vegetables  now.  Our  baskets  are  in  Joseph's  lodge  at  the 
gate.     Did  you  think  of  buying  a  few  cabbages  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  how  you  got  here,"  repeated  Philip. 

"  Well,  I  hardly  know  myself.  You've  got  a  nasty  barri- 
cade on  the  corner,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  We  have  !     Go  on  !  " 

"  Well — we  decided  that  we  must  get  to  you  somehow  or 
other  ; — yesterday  we  sold  your  rascally  Turcos  artichokes 
and  musty  turnips,  but  they  wouldn't  let  us  through  the 
lines,  and  we  tried  again  to-day.  Just  now,  as  we  reached 
the  barricade,  the  street  suddenly  went  mad.  A  com- 
missary's wagon  which  was  bringing  in  a  lot  of  live  poultry 
struck  a  cannon  and  tipped  over.     You  ought  to  have  seen 

L 


152  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

those  hens  and  turkeys  scratching  gravel  to  get  away,  and 
those  thieving  Turcos  after  them.  A  fat  rooster  ran  between 
my  legs  and  the  Turco  in  chase  knocked  me  fiat  in  his  hurry 
to  grab  the  fowl.  When  I  got  up  they  both  were  running 
and  squawking  down  the  street.  The  officers  couldn't  do 
anything  with  the  men.  The  barricade  was  empty  in  no 
time,  everybody  chasing  turkeys.  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Brieuc  and  I  saw  our  chance,  and  we  simply  walked  through 
an  opening  in  the  barricade,  and  before  anyone  could  detect 
us  we  were  hidden  by  the  corner  of  the  street  above  the 
convent.  There  was  a  sentry  up  by  the  Rue  Bara,  but  I 
suppose  he  thought  it  was  a)l  right — as  long  as  we  had 
passed  the  barricade.  When  he  wasn't  looking  we  pulled  the 
bell — and  here  we  are." 

"  If  you  knew  how  welcome  !  Come  in  and  be  com- 
fortable !  "  cried  Landcs,  and  he  led  the  way  to  the 
studio. 

"  Joseph,"  said  he,  dragging  a  lounge  into  the  bedroom, 
"  will  make  up  a  bed  on  this  for  one  of  us,  and  there  is  my 
bed  for  the  other.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  will  share  the 
room  of  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  of  course " 

"  Oh,  I  won't  stay.  You  can't  put  up  four  in  a  place  only 
meant  for  two.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  is  glad  to  be 
with  another  woman,  of  course,  but — after  I've  seen  you  a 
little  while  I'll  go  and  shift  for  myself." 

"  Oh  !   will  you  ?     How  will  you  pass  the  barricade  ?  ' 

"  Bluff  it."  ' 

"  And  do  you  know  the  penalty  for  bluffing  it  ?  " 

"  No,  what's  the  penalty  ?  " 

"  Shooting  on  the  spot,  without  court-martial."  Jack 
looked  blank.  "  What's  the  sense  of  looking  that  way  ?  " 
said  Philip. 

"But  I  didn't  mean " 

"  Didn't  you  mean  to  risk  your  life  to  help  me  in  the 
Impasse  de  la  Mort  ?  I  think  you  did,  Jack.  Isn't  it  rather 
late  to  stand  on  ceremony  with  me  ?  Besides,  do  you  realize 
that  I  have  been  a  prisoner  here  ever  since  that  night,  without 
speaking  to  a  man  except  Joseph  ?  " 

"  What  about  food  ?  " 

"  Joseph  has  a  pass.  It's  only  marketing  for  four  instead 
of  two." 

"  Well,  if  you  put  it  that  way.     But  it  didn't  seem  when 


THE    SHADOW    OF    TERROR  1 53 

we  came  in  just  now  as  if  you  had  found  the  absence  of  male 
society " 

"  Here,"  interrupted  Philip,  dryly,  "  don't  you  want  linen 
and  some  decent  clothes  ?  " 

"  I  do  indeed.     This  blouse  is  not  perfumed  with  violet." 

"  Well — you  know  the  place  as  well  as  I  do.  There's  the 
dressing-case,  here's  the  bath,  filled, — and  I've  had  reason 
before  now  to  think  my  clothes  fitted  you  !  " 

"  Pure  calumny,"  said  Ellice,  shedding  his  blouse, — 
"  where  are  the  towels  ?  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  Get 
out  or  I'll  splash  !  " 

Landes  went  out  into  the  studio  where  the  concierge  was 
poking  the  fire  and  waiting  for  orders.  Giving  him  instruc 
tions  to  provide  for  four,  Philip  strolled  on  into  the  garden 
and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain  to  smoke  a  cigarette. 
The  last  rays  of  the  sun  fell  aslant  the  gravel  where  the  toad 
squatted,  cold  and  motionless. 

"  So  you're  back  again,  my  friend,"  laughed  Philip.  For 
a  while  he  sat  and  smoked,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Monsieur 
Prud'homme,  but  he  was  not  thinking  of  Monsieur  Prud'- 
homme.  The  two  goldfish  floated  near  the  surface  of  the 
water,  staring  intently  until  a  flighty  new-born  gnat  tumbled 
into  the  basin,  then  they  jumped  together  and  fell  back  with 
loud  flops. 

"  That  must  have  been  a  gnat,"  he  thought,  "  the  first  this 
spring.  It  is  already  spring,  the  lilacs  will  be  in  bloom  by 
next  week,  so  will  the  almonds  and  acacias.  What  will  the 
spring  bring  to  us — to  Jeanne  and  to  me  ?  What  will  it 
bring  to  Paris — to  France  ?  "  He  thought  of  the  strange 
year  that  had  just  ended — the  battles  and  rumours  of  battles, 
of  the  summer,  the  disaster  of  Sedan  in  the  autumn,  the 
siege  with  its  wintry  horrors  and  desolation,  the  surrender 
and  the  entry  of  the  German  hordes.  How  long  was  this  era 
of  battle  to  continue  ?  The  new  year  had  begun  badly. 
January  passed  amid  an  iron  tempest  from  the  Prussian 
siege-guns.  From  the  fifth  until  the  twenty-seventh  of  the 
month,  great  shells  fell  like  monstrous  meteors  in  Paris, 
blowing  to  fragments  women  and  children  as  well  as  the  city's 
defenders,  tearing  houses  to  pieces,  smashing  churches, 
spreading  terror  and  death  even  in  the  hospitals  where  the 
helpless  wounded  lay. 

February,  the  month  of  starvation,  began  with  famine  and 


154  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

ended  in  riots.  March  had  now  just  ended,  but  what  a 
month  of  horror  had  died  with  it  !  This  was  the  third  of 
April.     What  would  April  bring  ? 

He  sat  there  thinking  ;  the  old  jingle  kept  running  through 
his  mind  until  he  repeated  it  aloud, 

"  April  showers 
Bring  forth  May  flowers." 

He  little  knew  how  truly  the  old  rhyme  rang,  for  the  April 
showers  were  to  be  showers  of  blood,  and  the  May  blossoms, 
the  crimson  flower  of  Anarchy. 

Twilight  fell  as  he  sat  pondering  by  the  fountain,  and 
already  in  the  studio  a  lamp  glowed  through  the  drawn 
curtains.  After  a  while  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  came  to  the 
doorway  and  looked  out  into  the  garden.  She  could  not  see 
him  in  the  shadows,  and  she  called  softly,  "  Philip,  where  are 
you  ?  '  He  rose  at  once  and  walked  to  her.  He  thought  of 
her  arms  around  his  neck  an  hour  before  and  felt  his  cheeks 
burning  in  the  darkness,  but  all  the  constraint  was  on  his  side. 

"  You  will  catch  cold  without  your  hat,"  she  said,  "  come 
in." 

"  Is  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  well  ?  " 

'  Quite  well.     I  have  lent  her  everything  she  needs." 

"  Well,  you  will  be  happy  now  to  have  a  companion  here 
with  you." 

"  Yes — oh  yes.  She  is  very  charming.  Her  name  is 
Marguerite,"  she  said  in  a  low  sweet  voice. 

"  Good-bye  to  our  little  promenades  then,"  he  said  sulkily. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  without  speaking,  and  he 
felt  very  silly  standing  there  on  the  step  below  her. 

"  Come,"  he  said  at  last,  "  we  must  go  into  the  studio.  Is 
Ellice  there  ?  " 

'  Monsieur  Ellice  is  talking  with  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Brieuc  before  the  fire.  If  you  had  your  hat  on  we  might  take 
a  little  tour  in  the  garden." 

With  a  laugh  she  threw  her  scarf  over  his  head  and  tied  it 
like  a  turban.  Then  she  stepped  to  the  ground  and  took  his 
arm. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  muttered  ;  she  bent  her  head  gently  and 
they  moved  out  through  the  dark  garden. 

Twice  they  made  the  circuit  in  silence  ;    Ms  heart  was 


THE    SHADOW    OF    TERROR  1 55 

beating  very  fast  and  the  light  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  arm 
filled  him  with  sensations  which  he  was  too  happy  to  analyse. 

"  We  must  go  in,"  she  said,  as  they  approached  the  door- 
way for  the  third  time.  He  unwound  the  scarf  and  placed  it 
about  her  neck.  Still  she  lingered  a  moment,  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her  back,  her  fair  face  half  turned  from  his. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  have  many  more  little  walks  together  in 
our  garden,"  she  said, — "  if  you  wish  it,  Philip." 

"  I  do,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Come,"  she  whispered,  "  I  hear  Joseph  bringing  the 
silver.     Dinner  will  be  served  before  you  are  ready." 

He  followed  her  into  the  studio  and  went  up  to  the  fire- 
place, where  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  was  sitting,  with 
Jack  lounging  on  the  rug  beside  her,  and  Toodles  bestowing 
his  clumsy  cheerfulness  impartially  on  them  both.  Philip 
explained  the  arrangements  he  had  made  for  their  accommo- 
dation.    "  I  wish  I  could  say  comfort,"  he  added. 

"  I  will  say  it  then.  You  will  be  more  than  comfortable 
if  you  have  Monsieur  Landes  for  your  host,"  said  Jeanne, 
looking  after  Philip  who  had  started  toward  his  room  to  get 
ready  for  dinner.  He  heard  without  looking  back,  but  all  the 
time  he  was  dressing  he  was  asking  himself  what  was  the 
quality  in  Jeanne  de  Brassac  which  made  a  man  feel  so 
proud  at  her  lightest  approval. 

"  Did  you  find  your  gardener's  dress  a  good  disguise, 
Jack  ?  "  he  asked  when  he  rejoined  them. 

"  Perfectly — even  to  the  perfume.  That  peasant  who 
owned  it  was  a  friend  in  need,  but  he  wasn't  tidy." 

"  You  don't  think  anyone  could  have  suspected  you  ?  ' 

"  No  one  did,  it  appears." 

"  And  your  French  is  not  all  it  might  be,  either,"  mused 
Philip,  "  but  perhaps  you  didn't  talk  much.  It's  our  voices 
and  inflections  that  betray  us,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 

"  Not  yours,  Monsieur  Landes,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Brieuc  ;    "  you  speak  like  a  Frenchman." 

He  gave  her  a  searching  glance  to  see  if  it  were  a  compliment 
or  sincerely  meant.  "  But  you  must  know  you  do,"  put  in 
Jeanne.  "  Here  comes  Joseph  with  the  soup  ;  will  you  give 
me  your  arm,  Monsieur  Ellice  ?  " 

During  dinner  Jack  Ellice  did  most  of  the  talking,  with 
constant  appeals  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc.  It  was 
evident  that  Jack  fancied  himself  in  love  with  her,  and  that  her 


156  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

manner  of  receiving  his  homage  was  more  peremptory  than 
flattering.  It  was  a  mixture  of  indulgence  and  impatience 
which  said  she  thought  him  an  excellent  boy,  but  centuries 
younger  than  herself.  His  love  was  not  very  obtrusive, 
being  confined  to  sudden  lapses  into  silent  sentimental  con- 
templation of  the  young  lady,  who  was  certainly  very  pretty. 
Then  after  a  few  minutes  he  would  emerge  and  remain  in  a 
normal  condition  for  hours. 

His  temperament  was  winning,  his  character  fickle,  he  was 
true-hearted,  kind,  and  brave,  and  only  tiresome  when  under 
his  sentimental  spells.  He  never  met  a  pretty  woman 
without  falling  in  love  in  this  manner,  and  then  suddenly, 
without  the  least  warning,  the  spoony  part  of  his  affection 
would  vanish,  and  a  hearty  friendship  would  remain  in  its 
place.  With  Jack,  to  love  a  woman  once  was  to  have  an 
immense  kindness  for  her  ever  after. 

When  dinner  was  over  Jeanne  insisted  that  the  men  should 
smoke  ;  so  they  lighted  cigarettes,  and  Philip,  blowing  a 
luxurious  whiff  to  the  ceiling,  called  upon  Ellice  to  tell  his 
story. 

'  And  no  embellishments,  Monsieur  Jack,"  said  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Brieuc,  teasingly  ;  "  I  am  here  to  correct  any 
mistakes,  you  know." 

"  It  doesn't  need  any  embellishments.  It's  weird  enough 
without  any,  but  I'll  not  be  a  party  to  any  belittling  of  what 
I  call  the  most  astounding  and  diverting  adventures  of  the 
Demoiselle  Marguerite  de  St.  Brieuc — and  her  faithful " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Ellice,"  said  Jeanne  gently,  "  but  un- 
happily the  adventures  are  not  over  yet.  Mustn't  we  take 
them  a  little  seriously  until  they  are  are  finished  ?  " 

Jack  made  her  a  bow  and  went  on  gravely  : 

"  Mademoiselle  is  right.  The  situation  is  serious  enough, 
and  nothing  is  gained  by  pretending  not  to  think  so.  When 
we  left  you  in  the  cab  we  expected  to  meet  you  again  at  my 
studio  within  an  hour.  Captain  de  Carette  was  unconscious 
and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  had  some  difficulty  in  re- 
placing the  bandages  on  his  wounds.  I  think  they  slipped 
that  time  when  Tribert  knocked  him  down,  you  know." 

"  I  know." 

"  I  think  Captain  de  Carette  regained  consciousness 
before  we  reached  the  Rue  de  Sfax,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes."  said  Marguerite,  briefly. 


THE    SHADOW    OF    TERROR  157 

"  Well — when  we  had  crossed  the  Passage  de  Lille  and 
were  about  to  enter  the  Rue  de  Sfax,  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Brieuc,  who  was  looking  ahead  from  the  cab  window, 
suddenly  cried  out  to  me  to  stop  the  driver.  I  did  so,  of 
course, — lucky  for  us  she  was  on  the  lookout.  The  whole 
street  was  full  of  Federal  troops  raising  Cain.  They  were  all 
drunk,  yelling  like  madmen  and  firing  their  rifles  into  the  air, 
so  our  cabby  backed  Ms  horses  into  the  passage  de  Lille, 
which  was  as  dark  as  pitch.  I  got  out  and  stole  up  to  the 
corner  to  reconnoitre.  The  Federals  were  dragging  a  man 
out  of  a  vestibule,  howling  and  cursing,  and  discharging  their 
rifles  in  every  direction.  They  finished  the  poor  fellow  with 
their  bayonets  and  left  him — never  mind  how.  I  was  simply 
rooted  to  the  spot,  and  next  thing  I  saw  them  break  into 
another  house,  and  after  driving  every  occupant  into  the 
street,  pillage  and  wreck  it  from  roof  to  basement.  I  could 
see  them  raging  through  the  rooms  with  lighted  torches. 
Then  they  all  came  out  again  and  yelled  '  Vive  la  Commune 
— a  mort  Lebeau  !  '  Lebeau  !  I  thought,  why,  that  is  the 
man  who  disciplined  the  National  Guard  during  the  siege  ! 
He  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Sfax.  Then  a  thought  struck  me  and 
made  me  jump.  Whose  house  was  it  they  were  wrecking 
and  preparing  to  burn?  Sure  enough,  when  I  crept  along 
close  to  the  wall,  and  got  near  enough  to  see — it  was  my 
house,  and  the  furniture  of  my  studio,  and  the  remains  of  my 
pictures  lay,  with  what  was  left  of  Monsieur  Lebeau,  in  the 
middle  of  the  street. 

"  I  didn't  waste  much  time  there  after  that,  but  before  I 
got  away  a  National  Guard  fired  at  me,  and  when  I  left  the 
bullets  were  flying  down  the  Rue  deSfax.  Cabby  set  off  at 
a  gallop, — it  was  all  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  could  do  to 
make  him  wait  for  me,  and  he  never  pulled  up  until  we  were 
on  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel.  Then  he  wanted  us  to  get  out  ; 
he  said  we  needn't  pay  him  if  we'd  only  go.  The  jolting  had 
loosened  Captain  de  Carette's  bandages,  and  he  was  almost 
helpless  from  loss  of  blood.  I  told  cabby  to  go  ahead,  and 
we  started  in  search  of  lodgings.  You  can  imagine  how 
careful  we  had  to  be.  A  wounded  officer  would  have  queered 
us  badly  with  the  wrong  sort  of  landlord.  But  it  wTas  easy 
to  avoid  committing  ourselves,  for  the  friends  of  the  Commune 
were  bawling  for  the  Commune,  and  that  helped  us  very  much 
in  selecting  our  hotel-keeper.     After  a  long  search  we  found 


158  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

one  who  was  so  quiet  we  thought  we  could  venture  to  trust 
him,  and  sure  enough  he  was  loyal, — Verdier,  the  landlord  of 
the  Boule  d'Or,  a  little  hotel  on  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel. 
We  got  Captain  de  Carette  to  bed,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Brieuc  dressed  his  wound  while  we  were  waiting  for  a  surgeon. 
When  the  doctor  came  he  said  he  couldn't  have  done  better 
himself " 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur  Jack  ! — he  said  nothing  of  the  kind." 
'  He  said  the  bandages  were  all  right,  didn't  he  ?  " 
"  He  said  they  did  very  well — but  that  is  of  no  consequence, 
anyway.     Please  go  on." 

"  Well,  the  doctor  was  just  on  the  point  of  leaving  for 
Versailles  and  he  had  a  pass  from  Raoul  Rigault,  so  we  just 
forged  another  for  de  Carette.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc 
absolutely  refused  to  let  us  provide  her  with  one  also." 

"  It  was  too  dangerous,"  said  the  young  lady  ;  "  one 
forgery  was  likely  to  succeed,  but  a  second,  and  for  a  lady, 
would  have  been  scrutinized." 

"  So  the  doctor  took  the  Captain  into  his  own  carriage — 
and  carried  him  off,"  said  Ellice,  soberly. 

'  Have  you  heard  from  Alain — bat  no,  you  couldn't." 

"  Verdier  had  a  letter  from  the  doctor,  after  they  arrived 
at  Versailles.  He  said  his  patient  was  all  right — getting  on, 
and  would  soon  be  ready  for  active  service  again.  And 
Captain  de  Carette  sent  his  gratitude  and  his  devoted  service 
to  the  lady.     The  letter  said " 

"  I  told  you  I  should  correct  you  when  you  made  mistakes," 
interposed  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc,  hastily. 

"  Very  well,  but  this  isn't  one,  you  know.  I  read  it 
myself." 

"  And  did  he  not  mention  you  at  all  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  he  sent  his  regard  to  me." 

"  And  he  said  nothing  about  courage  and  generosity  ?  " 

"  I  forget — I  forget,  in  fact,  everything  that  happened  for 
the  next  few  days,  excepting  one  which  drove  all  the  rest 
out  of  my  head." 

Philip  wondered  if  Jack  could  possibly  be  going  to  forget 
his  good  mariners  and  say  that  the  company  of  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Brieuc  had  driven  everything  else  out  of  his  head. 

'  No,"  Landes  decided,  "  he  can't  be  such  a  fool,"  and 
said  aloud,  "  What  was  it  ?  " 

'  Merely  that  two  davs  after  we  were  installed  in  theBou> 


A    DANGEROUS    QUEST  159 

d'Or  I  thought  it  safe  to  venture  out,  and  I  strolled  down  the 
Boulevard  St.  Michel — intending  to  find  out  if  I  could  what 
had  become  of  you.  I  was  passing  a  corner  and  I  noticed  a 
crowd  around  a  bulletin,  a  big  flaming  poster,  so  I  stopped 
to  read  it.  Imagine  my  abject  terror  when  I  found  myself 
reading  a  description  of  myself  with  a  reward  for  my  appre- 
hension, signed  by  Raoul  Rigault.  My  knees  knocked 
together — they  did  indeed — "  as  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc 
looked  up  incredulously.  "  You  were  mentioned  too,  Philip 
— dead  or  alive  we're  both  wanted  by  Raoul  Rigault.  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc  also 
occupied  several  lines  of  large  type,  but  they're  not  wanted 
dead.  Well — I  went  back  to  the  Boule  d'Or  and  stayed  there. 
Verdier  came  and  held  a  consultation  with  us.  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Brieuc's  family  live  in  Tours  ;  her  friends  here  had  all 
fled  to  Versailles  or  elsewhere.  She  was  good  enough  to 
admit  that  she  felt  safer  with  mv  company  than  without 
it " 

"  I  admitted  much  more  of  my  confidence  and  esteem  for 
you  than  that,  Monsieur  Jack." 

Jack  coloured  with  pleasure  and  went  on :  "  Verdier 
finally  advised  us  to  try  our  luck  at  the  barricade.  There 
was  a  market  gardener  and  his  wife  who  sold  garden  stuff  to 
him — he  bought  their  clothes  of  them  for  six  times  what  they 
were  worth,  assuring  them  that  if  Raoul  Rigault  ever  heard 
of  the  transaction  they  would  be  corpses  the  same  day.  We 
put  on  the  things  in  spite  of  their  smells — and  sold  vegetables 
at  your  barricade  until  we  got  in.     That's  all." 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A  Dangerous  Quest 

Next  morning  before  six  o'clock  Landes  was  writing  a  note. 
It  said,  when  finished : 

"  Dear  Jack — Now  you  are  here  to  take  my  place,  I  must 
go  and  see  if  I  can't  find  some  help.  Your  blue  blouse,  etc., 
will  do  for  a  disguise — if  they  served  you  they  will  me.  I  am 
going  along  the  wall  to  the  Passage  Stanislas,  and  unless  I 
have  bad  luck  I  shall  drop  into  the  street  there  and  make  as 


l6o  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

best  I  can  for  the  Bo  ale  d'Or.  I  hope  your  loyal  landlord 
Verdier  will  befriend  me  as  he  did  you,  and  will  somehow 
manage  to  get  a  message  into  the  hands  of  our  Minister. 
Anyway,  it's  worth  trying,  and  I  don't  think  the  risk  is  great. 

"  I  expect  to  be  here  again  before  dark.  Mademoiselle  de 
Brassac  will  know  that  I  am  doing  no  more  than  my  duty 
and  will  forgive  my  not  taking  leave. 

"  My  best  services  to  both  the  ladies.  Keep  them  and 
yourself  in  spirits,  Jack. 

"  Yours, 

"  Philip." 

He  sealed  the  note,  and  addressed  it  to  Ellice.  Then  he 
drew  the  gardener's  blouse  over  his  head,  pulled  on  the  shabby 
trousers,  and  took  up  the  cap  and  bandanna  handkerchief. 

He  stood  a  moment  thinking,  then  placing  the  letter  on  the 
night-table  beside  the  bed,  he  quietly  entered  the  studio. 
Tcherka  came  to  rub  against  his  legs,  but  he  did  not  notice 
her,  for  he  was  looking  up  to  the  little  balcony  and  Jeanne  de 
Brassac 's  door.     Next  moment  he  was  in  the  garden. 

There  was  a  ladder  lying  under  a  peach  tree,  and  he  picked 
it  up  and  placed  it  against  the  wall.  The  wall  was  high,  but 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  climbing  to  the  top  and  walking  along 
it  until  he  reached  the  intersecting  wall  of  the  garden  in  the 
rear.  This  was  also  broad  but  much  overgrown  with  rose 
vines.  He  tore  his  blouse  on  the  thorns  and  scratched  his 
face  and  hands,  but  he  had  no  difficulty  in  following  it  until  it 
took  a  sudden  turn  and  he  came  in  sight  of  the  Passage 
Stanislas.  But  now  another  wall  covered  with  tiles  blocked 
his  way  and  he  spent  ten  minutes  in  trying  to  scale  it.  He 
failed,  but  there  was  a  chestnut  tree  growing  close  to  the  wall 
in  the  garden  below,  so  he  dropped  to  the  ground,  scrambled 
up  the  tree,  and  swung  himself  across  to  the  tiled  wall.  In  a 
minute  more  he  lay  flat  on  his  stomach  along  the  wall  which 
borders  the  Passage  Stanislas,  and  peered  down  to  where  the 
Rue  Notre-Dame  curves  by  the  convent.  There  were  no 
sentinels  in  sight,  the  alley  and  the  street  were  silent  and 
deserted  ;  he  quietly  dropped  to  the  sidewalk  and  hurried 
toward  the  Boulevard  Montparnasse. 

It  was  a  queer  sensation  to  find  himself  walking  in  the  street 
again.  He  looked  about  as  if  he  had  suddenly  dropped  into  a 
strange  city.     People  passed  him,  most  of  them  clad  in  cap 


A    DANGEROUS    QUEST  l6l 

and  blouse.  On  the  Boulevard  the  shops  were  still  closed, 
but  the  street  was  lively  and  the  omnibuses  and  cabs  were 
running  as  usual.  Every  few  moments  he  passed  soldiers  of 
the  National  Guard,  but  nobody  looked  at  him,  and  he  began 
to  feel  at  ease.  He  met  scores  of  men  dressed  as  he  was,  and 
he  was  sure  that  if  anything  had  been  amiss  in  his  costume 
they  would  have  noticed  it.  Except  for  a  barricade  here  and 
there,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  Paris  was  in  a  state  of  in- 
surrection. The  life  in  the  city  had  not  changed  ;  people 
were  taking  down  their  wooden  shutters,  the  crdmeries  were 
open  and  filled  with  customers,  and  market  wagons  passed  in 
files  along  the  shabby  Boulevard  toward  the  square  by  the 
Closerie  des  Lilas.  On  the  Boulevard  Montrouge  he  stopped 
to  buy  a  hot  roll,  and  took  it  into  a  cr6merie  where  he  ate  it 
with  a  pat  of  fresh  butter  and  a  bowl  of  chocolate.  Two 
soldiers  of  Franchetti's  Scouts  sat  in  the  corner,  jabbering 
noisily  over  their  cafe-au-lait.  He  listened  to  their  conversa- 
tion while  he  sipped  his  hot  chocolate. 

The  discussion  centred  on  a  debauch  in  which  they  had 
participated  the  evening  before,  and  after  a  while  their 
language  became  so  disgusting  that  Philip  hurried  with  his 
chocolate  and  rose  to  pay  the  reckoning.  As  he  laid  the  six 
sous  on  the  counter  and  turned  toward  the  door,  a  sentence 
uttered  by  the  elder  of  the  two  scouts  arrested  him. 

"  Nom  de  Dieu  !  if  Raoul  Rigault  wants  the  man  he'll  get 
him  ;  never  fear,  Sureau,  he'll  get  him  !  Tiens  !  I  should 
very  much  like  to  run  across  either  of  them.  T  could  pay  you 
your  ten  francs  then, — I'd  have  money  to  toss  out  of  the 
window,  eh  !    Sureau?  " 

"  Tu  m'ennuies,"  replied  the  other,  sulkily  ;  "  if  I'm  not 
going  to  get  my  ten  francs  before  you  catch  this  merle-blanc 
— what's  his  name " 

"  Philip  Landes  is  one, — Ellice  is  the  other,"  said  the  elder 
soldier.  "  Alive  or  dead,  it's  the  same  reward.  I'd  fix  them. 
Think,  Sureau  !  Imagine  poor  old  Pastoret  coming  in  with 
two, — both  birds  together, — one  in  each  hand  nicely  spit 
through  with  my  bayonet  !  " 

"  And  my  ten  francs  !  Get  out  with  your  white  black- 
birds !  Look  here — I'm  in  earnest — Pastoret,  I  want  you 
to  pay  me  that  ten  francs." 

"  I'm  going  to  pay — there  !  " 

"  No  cheat/' 


1 62  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  No  cheat— I  tell  you  !  :' 

"  Swear  !  " 

"  Tu  te  fiches  de  moi,  espece  de  cretin." 

The  dispute  recommenced  with  reference  to  the  orgy  of  the 
previous  night,  and  Philip  waited  to  hear  no  more  but  hurried 
out  into  the  street. 

To  his  own  astonishment  the  discussion  of  the  reward  for 
himself,  dead  or  alive,  neither  shocked  nor  scared  him.  On 
the  contrary,  a  pleasant  shiver  of  exhilaration  passed  through 
him,  his  face  tingled  with  excitement,  and  he  stepped  along 
with  every  sense  alert.  He  felt  perfect  confidence  in  his 
simple  disguise,  he  looked  forward  to  a  satisfactory  termina- 
tion of  his  mission,  and  he  walked  with  an  air  which  was 
almost  gay. 

The  Luxembourg  Gardens  were  turned  into  a  military 
camp.  As  he  passed  along  the  gilded  iron  railing  beyond  the 
Ecole  des  Mines,  he  saw  artillery  parked  on  the  northern 
terrace  and  cavalrymen  watering  their  horses  at  the  basin  of 
the  big  fountain.  Federal  infantry  were  encamped  around 
the  old  palace,  from  which  floated  the  red  flag  of  the  Com- 
mune. Sentinels  lounged  before  each  gate,  chatting  idly 
with  citizens  who  came  to  enquire  for  relatives  among  the 
insurgent  battalions,  and  sallow-faced  officers,  blazing  with 
gold  and  crimson,  paced  listlessly  up  and  down  the  gravel 
walks  by  the  eastern  palace  wing.  In  the  Place  de  Medici 
two  Hussars  of  Death  sat  motionless  upon  their  bony  horses, 
their  long  cloaks  hanging  to  the  stirrups,  black  crepe  fluttering 
on  their  arms.  Like  foul  night-birds  surprised  by  daylight, 
blinking  maliciously  at  the  passers-by,  these  strange  creatures 
peered  over  the  cloaks  which  shrouded  their  faces,  watching 
with  fierce  bright  eyes  every  movement  of  the  people. 

The  dome  of  the  Pantheon  was  glowing  in  the  sky,  as  he 
passed  the  Rue  Gay  Lussac,  and  above  it  the  red  flag  of  the 
Commune  flapped  black  against  the  rising  sun.  Figures 
passed  across  the  terraced  roof,  silhouetted  against  the  bright 
blue  above,  with  a  sparkle  of  buttons  and  bayonets  as  they 
turned.  On  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel  the  cafes  were  opening, 
and  those  hopeless  creatures,  the  morning  absinthe  drinkers, 
dotted  the  terraces  of  the  cafes  "  Rouge  et  Noir,"  and  "  Gari- 
baldi." A  few  harsh-voiced  women,  over  whose  pale  faces 
the  rouge  was  smeared,  were  returning  with  their  escorts  from 
1  fete  in  Montparnasse,  and  their  eyes,  encircled  by  violet 


A    DANGEROUS    QUEST  163 

rings,  glittered  with  vice.  Their  escorts  were  students, 
weary  and  viciously  drunk,  and  they  filled  the  street  with 
coarse  yells  and  shouts  of  defiance. 

"  Vive  la  Commune  !  "  shouted  one. 
'  Oh,  non — pas  9a  voyons,"  cried  another  ;  "  vive  Thiers  !" 

"  Vive  Thiers  !  "  they  shouted  ironically. 

Then  they  noticed  the  Hussars  of  Death  in  the  Place  de 
Medici,  and  shook  their  fists  at  them  in  drunken  bravado. 

"  Long  live  Thiers  !  "  they  screamed.  '  Long  live  the 
Republic  !  Down  with  the  Commune  !  A  mort,  les 
Hussards  de  la  Mort  !  " 

Slowly  one  of  the  draped  cavaliers  turned  in  his  saddle  and 
pointed  at  the  students.  Drunk  as  they  were  they  felt  the 
menace  of  that  outstretched  arm  ;  their  yells  and  cat-calls 
died  in  their  throats,  and  one  of  the  women  ran  into  a  cafe 
shrieking  hysterically.  A  ghastly  silent  laugh  stretched  the 
skin  on  the  hussar's  sunken  face,  his  arm  fell  slowly  to  his 
side,  and  his  head  sank  again  among  the  folds  of  the  long 
cloak.  Only  his  eyes,  restless  and  brilliant,  glittered 
venomously  above  the  mantle. 

Philip  shuddered  in  spite  of  himself,  and  a  feeling  of 
insecurity  began  to  trouble  him.  He  was  in  a  quarter  where 
he  was  well  known,  and,  though  he  pulled  the  visor  of  his  cap 
low  over  his  face,  a  nervousness,  almost  a  foreboding,  set  his 
heart  fluttering  under  the  blue  blouse.  Then,  as  he  turned 
from  the  Place  de  Medici  to  cross  the  Boulevard,  he  met 
Faustine  Courtois  face  to  face.  She  knew  him  at  once,  but 
she  passed  on,  very  pale,  and  gave  no  sign  of  recognition. 
The  shock  of  the  meeting  unnerved  him,  and  he  crept  along 
the  sidewalk,  listening  for  pursuing  footfalls.  Not  that  he 
feared  Faustine,  but  if  she  had  recognized  him  so  easily  he 
knew  he  was  not  safe.  Any  shop-keeper  in  the  Quarter,  any 
student  or  grisette  who  wished  to  betray  him,  through 
cupidity  or  from  what  they  imagined  to  be  patriotism,  would 
reap  an  easy  reward  and  stand  high  in  the  favour  of  Raoul 
Rigault. 

Before  he  reached  the  Rue  des  Ecoles  he  passed  half  a  dozen 
familiar  faces,  but  nobody  noticed  him  and  fear  began  to  give 
place  to  hope.  Still  the  buoyancy  and  pleasant  thrill  of 
adventure  had  left  him  ;  he  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  in  not 
making  a  wide  circuit  behind  the  Panth6on  and  avoiding  the 
Boulevard  as  he  would  the  plague.     He  could  yet  escape 


164  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

passing  through  the  Boulevard  to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and 
although  he  was  not  known  in  that  section  he  was  prudent 
enough  to  turn  into  the  Rue  des  Fxoles,  enter  the  Rue  des 
Carmes,  and  pick  his  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  narrow 
crooked  streets  which  lie  between  the  Boulevard  St.  Germain 
and  the  river.  The  bridges  which  cross  the  left  arm  of  the 
Seine  to  the  Isle  St.  Louis  were  guarded  by  troops,  so  he 
turned  to  the  left  and  walked  along  the  quays  until  he  came 
to  the  Pont  Neuf.  There  people  and  vehicles  were  passing 
freely,  and  he  mixed  with  the  crowd  and  crossed  unmolested. 
The  problem  now  was,  how  to  get  back  to  the  Boulevard  St. 
Michel,  or  rather,  to  that  section  of  it  known  as  the  Boulevard 
Sebastopol  where  the  little  H6tel  Boule  d'Or  was  located. 
Barricades  closed  the  quays  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine, 
but  the  Place  du  Carrousel  was  open  and  he  decided  to  make 
the  circuit  by  way  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  He  crossed  the  court 
of  the  Louvre  and  entered  the  street.  It  was  useless  ; 
barricades  cut  him  off  on  every  side.  For  hours  he  wandered 
through  the  city,  always  attempting  to  find  a  path  through 
the  jumble  of  streets  and  alleys  to  the  Boulevard  Sebastopol. 
In  vain,  and  at  last  he  had  to  own  it  to  himself  as  he  stood, 
wearied  and  discouraged  in  an  archway,  wondering  what  he 
should  do  next. 

Across  the  street  a  sentinel  was  standing  before  a  gray  stone 
building  which  he  recognized  as  the  residence  of  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris.  He  had  often  seen  the  gentle,  kindly  old 
man,  and  he  wondered  what  the  sentinel  was  doing  there. 
The  sentinel  was  doing  nothing  as  far  as  Landes  could  see,  tor 
people  passed  freely  in  and  out  of  the  court-yard,  and 
carriages  drove  through  the  porte-cochere.  A  sudden  thought 
struck  him.  Suppose  he  could  get  speech  with  the  Arch- 
bishop, and  suppose  the  Archbishop  should  find  means  of 
sending  a  message  to  the  American  Minister  !  Without 
waiting  a  moment  he  crossed  the  street,  passed  the  sentinel 
who  paid  no  attention  to  him,  and  entered  the  court-yard  of 
the  Archeveche.  As  he  stood  looking  for  the  right  doorway, 
a  servant  approached  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

'  I  wish  to  see  Monseigneur  Darboy,"  said  Philip,  boldly. 

"  Monseigneur  Darboy  is  at  the  Madeleine  with  the  cure 
of  the  Madeleine,"  replied  the  servant. 

"  When  will  he  return  ?  "  demanded  Philip. 

A  priest  was  passing  and  the  servant  approached  him  with 


A    DA.XGEROUS    QUEST  165 

a  low  bow.  "  Monsieur  l'abbe,  this  young  man  wishes  to  see 
the  Archbishop,"  he  said. 

The  abbe  Lagarde,  vicar-general  to  the  Archbishop  ol 
Paris,  turned  pleasantly  to  Philip. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  the  Archbishop,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  father." 

"  He  will  return  Dy  one  o'clock  ;  come  then,"  said  the 
abbe,  with  a  sad  smile,  and  turning  to  the  servant,  "  see  that 
this  young  man  is  admitted,"  he  added.  Philip  thanked  him 
and  took  his  leave. 

When  he  stood  again  in  the  street  and  looked  at  his  watch, 
he  found  that  it  was  twelve  o'clock.  There  was  an  hour  to 
wait,  and  he  wondered  how  he  could  best  use  it.  For  an 
instant  he  thought  of  attempting  to  reach  the  American 
Minister  himself,  but  remembered  Wilton's  warning  and 
Joseph's  experience.  Then  another  impulse  seized  him.  He 
would  have  time  to  go  to  the  Hotel  Perret  in  the  Place  Pigalle 
before  the  Archbishop  returned. 

"  Who  knows,"  he  muttered,  "  I  may  be  able  to  find  some 
clue.     Anyway,  I  will  go  and  reconnoitre." 

It  took  him  longer  than  he  had  thought  it  would  to  reach 
the  Place,  for  barricades  were  numerous  and  the  detours  long, 
but  at  last  he  entered  the  square,  found  it  quiet  and  entirely 
deserted,  and  crossed  the  street  to  the  Hotel  Perret.  The 
hotel  appeared  to  be  empty,  the  door  was  locked,  but  the 
blinds  were  up  and  the  glass  in  the  window  beside  the  door, 
which  he  had  smashed  with  the  butt  of  his  revolver  two  weeks 
before,  had  not  been  replaced. 

Without  hesitating  a  moment  he  climbed  through  the 
shattered  window  and  sprang  noiselessly  up  the  stairs  to  the 
de  Brassac  apartment.  The  door  was  open  and  he  entered, 
his  revolver  in  his  hand,  every  sense  keen  and  alert.  Almost 
at  once  he  saw  that  the  apartment  had  been  thoroughly  ran- 
sacked. Cabinets  swung  wide  open,  doors  in  the  armoires 
hung  shattered  from  the  hinges,  beds  were  dismantled 
and  pulled  to  pieces,  carpets  and  rugs  lay  heaped  in  the 
corners,  and  bureau  drawers  lay  scattered  on  the  bare 
floor. 

He  passed  through  the  suite  of  rooms,  treading  gentry, 
searching  every  corner  for  a  lurking  enemy,  until  he  came  to 
Colonel  de  Brassac's  dressing-room.  On  the  wall,  above  a 
shattered  dressing-table,  hung  a  rusty  old  pistol.     He  seized 


1 66  THE    REE)    REPUBLIC 

it,  felt  in  the  barrel,  touched  a  wad  of  something,  worked  at  it 
until  it  slipped  out,  and  a  stream  of  splendid  diamonds 
poured  into  his  hand.  He  was  so  overcome  with  excitement 
that  for  a  moment  he  could  neither  move  nor  breathe  nor  even 
think.  Gradually  his  mind  cleared,  but  still  he  stood  there 
motionless,  pondering  how  and  where  he  should  place  Jeanne 
de  Brassac's  little  fortune  in  safety.  Deep  tenderness  and 
exulting  pride  made  his  heart  beat  thickly  as  he  realized  that 
he  had  been  able  to  serve  so  well  the  woman  he  loved  ;  and, 
as  he  tasted  the  full  sweetness  of  this  thought,  all  at  once, 
somewhere  in  the  house,  a  door  opened  and  light  footsteps 
sounded  on  the  bare  floor.  He  thrust  the  diamonds  into  his 
pocket.  The  steps  ceased,  a  face  flashed  in  a  mirror  above 
his  head,  and  down  the  long  corridor  which  the  glass  reflected 
he  saw  Georgias  standing,  his  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets, 
his  jaw  hanging  loosely  between  the  flabby  folds  of  his  chin. 
The  Greek  saw  him  as  he  saw  Georgias,  through  the  mirror. 
In  an  instant  he  had  bounded  to  the  door,  and  at  the  same 
moment  Georgias  fired  and  fled.  With  the  crash  of  the 
splintering  mirror  behind  him,  Philip  sprang  through  the 
corridor,  firing  as  he  ran,  but  Georgias  turned  into  the  hallway 
and  sped  down  the  stairs  toward  the  lower  floor.  As  Philip 
jumped  to  the  landing  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Greek  on 
the  stairs  below.  Coolly  and  deliberately  he  raised  his  arm, 
knowing  he  had  the  man  at  his  mercy,  and  without  the 
slightest  compunction  fired  the  last  two  cartridges  in  his 
revolver.  Both  shots  struck  Georgias,  who  screamed  shrilly 
and  plunged  head-first  down  the  stairway  to  the  tiled 
vestibule.  He  was  quite  dead  when  Philip  reached  him.  He 
lay  on  the  stone  floor,  a  hideous  heap  in  a  widening  pool  of 
blood,  his  single-barrelled  pistol  clutched  in  one  hand,  a  long 
thin  knife  lying  beside  the  other.  Philip  stooped  and  picked 
up  the  knife,  then  flung  it  from  him  with  a  shudder,  for  he 
knew  it  was  the  same  that  he  had  seen  in  the  Cafe  Cardinal, — 
the  same  that  had  been  sheathed  in  the  throat  of  Colonel  de 
Brassac. 

The  blood  crept  in  long  bright  streams  toward  his  shoes, 
and  he  drew  back.  Very  calmly  he  opened  his  revolver  ;  the 
empty  shells  flew  out  and  fell  ringing  to  the  stone  floor  ;  then 
he  carefully  reloaded  every  chamber,  snapped  the  cylinder 
into  place,  and  thrust  the  weapon  into  the  leather  holster 
which  was  strapped  around  his  waist  under  the  blue  blouse. 


A    DANGEROUS    QUEST  167 

Without  another  glance  at  the  dead  murderer,  he  climbed 
through  the  broken  window  and  dropped  to  the  sidewalk. 

The  square  was  still  deserted.  If  there  were  yet  any 
inhabitants  among  the  silent  houses  opposite,  they  had  either 
not  heard  the  shots,  or  they  prudently  refrained  from 
investigation. 

He  reached  the  Rue  Blanche  without  difficulty,  entered  an 
alley,  and  threaded  his  way  toward  the  Archeveche.  He  had 
been  away  nearly  two  hours,  and  he  hastened  his  steps, 
fearing  that  the  Archbishop  might  have  returned  and  gone 
away  again.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  Archeveche,  he  saw  a 
carriage  drive  through  the  porte-cochere,  a  priest  step  out  and 
then  assist  an  old  man  to  alight.  Philip  entered  the  court- 
yard and  found  the  same  servant  who  had  given  him  informa- 
tion two  hours  earlier. 

"  The  Archbishop  has  just  returned,"  Landes  said,  "  I  saw 
him  leave  his  carriage  and  come  in  on  the  arm  of  a  priest. 
Will  you  ask  him  if  he  can  spare  me  an  instant  on  a  matter  of 
life  and  death  ?  " 

"  The  Archbishop  is  tired,"  said  the  servant ;  "  Mon- 
seigneur  is  old  and  not  at  all  in  good  health.  I  am  not  to 
admit  anybody." 

"This  is  a~ matter  of  life  and  death,"  repeated  Philip, 
slowly.  "  And  you  remember  that  M.  l'Abbe  gave  orders 
that  I  should  be  admitted.'' 

The  servant  hesitated  a  moment,  but  finally  went  away,  and 
returned  presently  saying  Philip  was  to  follow  him. 

They  passed  through  long  hallways  and  rich  apartments, 
the  servant  leading,  until  they  came  to  a  closed  door  where  a 
priest  stood  reading.  He  looked  up  as  Philip  approached, 
dismissed  the  servant  with  a  silent  nod,  and  then  turned  his 
keen  eyes  on  the  young  man. 

"  The  Archbishop  is  tired  and  ill.but  he  will  not  refuse  3'ou," 
said  the  priest.     "  Follow  me." 

They  entered  a  small  room  to  the  left,  passed  through  a 
doorway  hidden  by  a  curtain,  and  came  into  a  large  sunny 
chamber  where  an  old  man  was  lying  on  a  lounge.  His  mild 
face,  pale  under  the  fringe  of  snow-white  hair,  was  drawn  as 
if  in  pain,  but  he  smiled  as  Philip  entered,  and  silently 
acknowledged  the  young  man's  deep  obeisance.  When  he 
spoke  his  voice  was  sad  and  weak,  but  there  was  kindly 
sympathy  in  every  line  of  his  pallid  face. 
M 


I 68  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Can  I  help  you,  my  son  ?  " 

"  If  you  will,  Monseigneur." 

"  If  it  be  God's  will,"  murmured  Monseigncur  Darboy. 
"  Tell  me  your  trouble,  my  son." 

Before  Philip  could  reply  a  priest  hurried  into  the  room  and 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  the  Archbishop.  He  was 
labouring  under  terrible  excitement,  and  the  Archbishop 
raised  himself  on  one  arm  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  priest's 
head.  At  the  same  instant  the  street  outside  was  filled  with 
the  crash  of  drums  ;  the  noise  of  an  assembling  crowd  grew 
louder  and  louder,  the  shuffling  of  many  feet  sounded  along 
the  sidewalk,  and  there  was  the  clang  of  arms  in  the  court- 
yard. So  suddenly  had  this  occurred  that  Philip  had  barely 
time  to  spring  to  a  window  before  the  door  burst  open  and  an 
officer  of  the  National  Guard  strode  into  the  room  and  walked 
coolly  toward  the  Archbishop. 

After  a  moment  of  silence  he  had  the  decency  to  remove  his 
gold-laced  cap  and  bow  to  the  Archbishop,  who  returned  his 
salute  with  quiet  dignity.  Another  officer  entered  and  saluted 
mechanically.  He  wore  the  uniform  of  a  staff  captain  and 
carried  a  folded  paper  in  his  gloved  hand. 

"  Is  this  Monseigneur  Darboy  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  Archbishop  bowed  silently.  The  officer  turned  to  his 
companion,  who  wore  the  costume  of  the  companies  de 
marche. 

"  Captain  Journeaux,  take  charge  of  the  Archeveche." 

The  officer  addressed  saluted  and  withdrew  without  a 
glance  at  the  Archbishop  who  had  now  risen  to  his  feet.  Then 
the  staff  captain  turned  insolently  to  the  Archbishop  and  said 
in  a  quick,  jerky  manner  :  "  I  am  Captain  Revol,  of  the  staff, 
and  I  bring  an  order  for  your  arrest."  With  a  brusque 
gesture  he  unfolded  the  paper  in  his  hands,  and  read  in  a 
nasal  sing-song  voice,  glancing  sharply  every  moment  at  the 
two  priests  who  stood  beside  the  Archbishop  : 

"  Order  is  given  to  Citizen  ReVol,  Captain  Adjutant  attached  to 
the  Prefecture  of  Police,  to  enter  the  Archeveche  and  arrest  the  Sieur 
Darboy  who  calls  himself  Archbishop  of  Paris,  and  to  there  seize  all 
papers  of  which  a  minute  examination  will  be  made. 

"  Raoul  Rigault." 

"  An  order  of  arrest,"  repeated  Monseigneur  Darboy, 
incredulously. 


A     DAXGEROUS    QUEST  169 

"  Exactly,"  replied  the  officer,  folding  up  the  paper  and 
pocketing  it. 

"  It  is  impossible,  this  outrage  !  "  cried  a  priest.  He  was 
sternly  silenced  by  Revol. 

It  was  the  fourth  of  April,  Holy  Tuesday,  and  the  Episcopal 
Council  had  been  in  session  at  the  Archeveche  as  usual,  but 
had  broken  up  at  two  o'clock  and  many  of  the  prelates  had 
gone.  However,  a  large  number  remained,  among  thorn  the 
Vicar-General,  the  Abbe  Lagarde,  who  had  gone  to  bed  with 
a  sick  headache. 

Hearing  the  drums  and  the  noise  of  the  crowd,  he  had  risen 
and  dressed  and  now  entered  the  room  where  the  Archbishop 
stood  facing  the  Captain. 

"Who  are  you?'  demanded  the  officer.  The  Vicar- 
General  took  no  notice  of  his  question  but  passed  quietly  to 
the  Archbishop's  side. 

"  Why  am  I  -arrested  ?  "  asked  Monseigneur  Darboy, 
looking  at  the  Captain. 

"  Because,"  replied  Revol,  coolly,  "  last  night  a  body  of 
Federal  troops  were  fired  upon  in  the  Rue  des  Postes  from  the 
house  windows.  Monsieur  the  Prefet  of  Police  desires  to 
question  Monseigneur  about  it,  as  it  is  believed  that  the  shots 
came  from  the  windows  of  a  religious  society  connected  with 
the  Archeveche.  Of  course,"  he  added,  "  there  is  no  doubt 
but  that  Monseigneur  will  be  allowed  to  return  at  once  to  the 
Archeveche." 

The  Archbishop  repeated  this  strange  story  to  the  Abbe 
Lagarde,  who  had  left  the  room  to  bring  a  warm  shawl  for  the 
old  man,  and  they  consulted  earnestly  for  a  moment  in  low 
tones. 

"  Yes,"  Philip  heard  the  Abbe  say,  "  it  is  certainly  an  inven- 
tion.    They  have  come  purely  and  simply  to  arrest  you." 

"  And  you  consent  to  accompany  me  ?  "  asked  the 
Archbishop. 

'  I   do   not   consent — I   ask   the   privilege,"    replied   the 
Abbe  Lagarde. 

"  Allons  !     En  route  !  "  said  the  Captain. 
'  Will  you  not  permit  me  to  say  adieu  to  my  unhappy 
sister  ?  "  asked  the  Archbishop,  mildly. 

'  There  is  no  time  for  that  sort  of  stuff,"  sneered  the 
Captain,  motioning  a  file  of  soldiers  to  enter. 

'  Shame  !"  cried  Philip  from  the  window,  and  the  next 


170  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

moment  could  have  bitten  off  his  tongue — for  the  Captain 
walked  over  and  examined  him  with  sinister  coolness. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  ?  An  unfrocked  priest  ?  "  he 
demanded.  With  an  insulting  gesture  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
blue  blouse — and  started  back  hastily  ;  he  had  felt  the 
revolver  underneath. 

"  Arrest  that  man  !  "  he  cried  to  the  soldiers.  Instantly 
Philip  was  surrounded  by  bayonets  and  marched  out  between 
a  double  line  of  troops. 

The  Archbishop  had  profited  by  the  diversion  to  bid  his 
sister  farewell.  He  now  re-entered,  accompanied  by  the 
Abbe  Lagarde,  and  followed  the  Captain  down  to  where  his 
carriage  was  standing.  Citizen  Revol  jumped  up  beside  the 
coachman,  and  his  comrade  Journeaux  placed  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  Federal  battalion  which  was  standing  at  attention 
in  the  court.  As  the  drums  rolled,  another  file  of  soldiers 
appeared  conducting  Philip. 

"  Put  him  in  with  Darboy  !  "  cried  Revol  from  the  box — 
and  Philip  was  hustled  into  the  carriage,  the  door  was 
slammed,  and  the  cortege  started.  As  they  drove  out  of  the 
porte-cochere  they  passed  a  group  of  women  gathered  at  the 
entrance.  Some  were  kneeling  on  the  sidewalk — all  were 
weeping.  One,  a  girl  elegantly  dressed,  held  up  her  hands 
imploringly.  Philip  recognized  Ynes  Falaise.  Monseigneur 
Darboy's  pale  face  bent  benignly.  He  raised  his  hands  in 
benediction,  Captain  Revol  sneered  and  cursed  the  driver  ;  the 
carriage  rolled  swiftly  away  toward  the  Place  Dauphine. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Raoul  Rigault 

It  was  a  long  drive  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  and  Mon- 
seigneur Darboy  looked  terribly  ill  and  worn.  Nevertheless 
he  had  nothing  but  words  of  encouragement  for  his  com- 
panions, and  before  long  he  remembered  that  Philip  had 
something  urgent  to  communicate. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  you  wished  to  speak  with  me  on  a 
matter  of  life  and  death."  Philip  at  once  told  his  story. 
Monseigneur  Darboy  listened  as  attentively  as  if  he  were  safe 


RAOUL    RIGAULT  I  71 

and  at  ease  in  his  own  residence,  only  when  Philip  had  finished 
he  sighed  heavily  and  said  in  a  weak  patient  voice  : 

"  Alas  !  my  son,  you  see  how  little  I  can  do  for  my  friends 
at  present.  And  perhaps — but  the  event  is  in  God's  hands 
— if  I  can  help  you  I  will.  Believe  that.  And  in  case  things 
should  go  very  wrong  with  me — they  may  detain  me,  you 
know,  in  spite  of  their  promise  to  the  contrary,  but  I  do  not 
think  they  will, — if  then  it  should  happen  that  I  am  prevented 
from  doing  what  you  wish,  here  is  the  Abbe  Lagarde.  He  at 
least  can  be  in  no  danger.  As  soon  as  he  returns  from  the 
Prefecture  of  Police,  perhaps  to-day,  let  us  hope  to-morrow 
at  the  latest,  he  will  go  himself  and  lay  your  case  and  that  of 
the  ladies  whom  you  are  so  nobly  protecting,  before  the 
American  Minister." 

Landes,  touched  to  the  depths  of  his  troubled  heart  by  the 
Archbishop's  dignity  and  unselfish  sweetness,  knelt  and 
humbly  asked  his  blessing.  The  touch  of  those  gentle  old 
hands  on  his  head  brought  him  a  sense  of  peace,  but  Mon- 
seigneur  Darboy  was  overcome  b}'  weakness  and  the  excite- 
ment of  his  arrest,  his  face  grew  deathly  white,  he  sank  back 
on  the  Abbe's  shoulder  and  closed  his  eyes  ;  his  thin  hands 
trembled.  The  younger  men  watched  him  anxiously  in 
silence  for  some  time,  then  Philip  spoke  again,  in  a  low  voice, 
to  the  Abbe  Lagarde. 

"  I  shall  probably  be  shot  before  the  American  Minister 
can  interfere,  even  if  you  should  return  to  see  him  this 
evening.  I  have  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac's  diamonds  in  my 
pocket.  They  are  about  all  the  fortune  she  has.  Will  you 
take  charge  of  them,  my  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Abbe. 

Philip  made  a  little  bag  of  the  gardener's  bandanna, 
dropped  the  diamonds  in,  and  tied  the  corners  as  best  he 
could.  It  was  so  large  that  when  crumpled  together  it  made 
a  good  hiding-place  for  the  beautiful  stones,  whose  presence 
in  its  folds  it  was  hard  to  detect.  The  Abbe's  sad  face 
relaxed  an  instant  with  a  faint  smile  at  the  incongruity,  as  he 
placed  the  clumsy  cotton  kerchief  in  the  bosom  of  his  soutane. 

"  Have  you  any  message  for  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac,  my 
son  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tell  her  that  I  love  her,"  said  Philip,  earnestly. 

The  Abbe  bowed  in  silence. 

At  that  moment  the  coupe  stopped  in  the  Place  Dauphine, 


1-2  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

and  Revol  sprang  from  his  place  beside  the  coachman  and 
opened  the  carriage  door.  The  Abbe  Lagarde  stepped  out 
and  assisted  the  Archbishop  to  descend,  then  Philip  crept  out 
of  the  coupe  and  stood  quietly  before  the  Captain. 

Now  the  Citizen  Captain  Revol  had  no  idea  that  Philip  was 
a  prize.  He  did  not  know  his  name  and  did  not  care  to  know 
it,  but  he  did  know  that  he  carried  concealed  arms  and  was 
found  hobnobbing  with  priests,  and  that  was  enough  to  make 
him  doubly  a  "  suspect."  Still,  in  Revol's  eyes  Philip  was  of 
small  importance  compared  with  Monseigneur  Darboy,  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  so  when  Philip  stepped  before  him  he 
was  curtly  told  to  follow  in  the  rear. 

The  gate  on  the  side  of  the  Place  Dauphine  was  closed,  but 
Revol  ordered  it  to  be  opened,  and,  followed  by  the  three 
prisoners  and  two  armed  guards,  he  entered  the  court.  The 
court  was  crowded  with  men  who  vociferated  and  gesticulated 
and  filled  the  yard  with  an  indescribable  tumult.  They 
watched  the  Archbishop  with  hostile  or  indifferent  eyes  until  a 
jailer  appeared  and  Revol  handed  over  the  prisoners  to 
him. 

The  jailer,  a  weak-eyed  little  ruffian  with  a  long  scar  across 
his  cheeks,  grinned  impudently  at  the  two  priests  and 
motioned  them  to  follow  him.  Through  corridor  after 
corridor  and  salon  after  salon  where  repairs  were  in  progress, 
they  passed  in  single  file,  the  jailer  leading.  Then  they 
entered  a  long  suite  of  room^  which  were  filled  with  men, 
smoking,  drinking,  and  disputing  in  loud  harsh  voices,  but 
who  paid  them  not  the  slightest  attention.  The  room  beyond 
was  empty,  except  for  heaps  of  new  military  clothing  which 
lay  in  carefully  arranged  piles  on  some  long  tables.  The 
jailer  paused  in  this  room  and  motioned  Philip  to  stop. 

"  Your  turn  will  come,"  he  grinned,  "  but  the  Church  must 
not  be  kept  waiting."  Then,  bowing  ironically  to  the  Arch- 
bishop, he  opened  the  door  and  ushered  him  into  the  room 
beyond.  As  he  did  not  close  the  door  behind  him,  Philip, 
leaning  against  a  table  piled  high  with  uniforms  of  the 
National  Guard,  could  see  into  the  room.  The  jailer 
returned  and  winked  as  he  passed. 

"  They  will  send  for  you  in  a  moment.  Climb  up  on  that 
table  and  you  will  see  the  fun  !  "  he  said,  and  disappeared, 
slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Philip  clambered  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  tables  and  looked 


RAOUL    RIGAULT  I73 

through  the  half-closed  door  into  the  cabinet  of  the  Prefet 
of  Police. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  almost  opposite  the  door 
by  which  the  Archbishop  and  the  Abbe  Lagarde  had  entered, 
stood  a  huge  arm-chair  on  a  raised  step.  In  the  middle  of 
this  chair,  before  a  large  table  covered  with  green  cloth,  sat  a 
small  man,  writing.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  military  cap, 
heavy  with  gold  bands,  but  his  uniform  was  sombre  and  edged 
with  silver.  His  cold  shallow  eyes  were  raised  once  or  twice, 
but  he  took  no  notice  of  the  Archbishop,  who  had  entered 
with  his  hat  under  his  arm  and  now  stood  before  the  green- 
covered  table.  All  around  the  room  lounged  the  creatures  of 
the  Prefet  of  Police,  some  sitting  on  the  long  benches,  others 
standing  and  conversing  in  low  tones.  Most  of  them  wore 
some  sort  of  uniform,  and  all  affected  broad  crimson  sashes 
edged  with  gilt. 

Suddenly  Raoul  Rigault  raised  his  head,  adjusted  the 
glasses  on  his  nose,  and  with  a  violent  gesture  demanded 
brutally  who  those  people  were. 

'  The  Archbishop,"  cried  somebody  from  the  other  side 
of  the  room. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Rigault,  "  are  you  the  Citizen  Darboy  ? 
C'est  bien  !     It  is  our  turn  now  !  " 

The  Archbishop  advanced  a  step  or  two.  "  May  I  know 
why  I  am  arrested  ?  "  he  asked  mildly. 

Rigault  threw  himself  back  in  his  arm-chair,  and  waved  his 
hand  :  "  For  eighteen  hundred  years  you  priests  have 
brutalized  us  with  your  superstitions.  It  is  time  for  that  to 
stop.  Your  Chouans  massacred  our  brothers.  All  right, — 
everybody  has  his  turn.  This  time  it  is  we  who  have  the 
power.  We  will  use  it.  Oh,  we  won't  burn  you  a  la  Torque- 
mada, — we  are  too  humane.     But  we  will  shoot  you  !  " 

The  Archbishop  raised  his  shocked  face  to  the  inflamed  face 
of  Raoul  Rigault.  Then  he  looked  sorrowfully  at  the  others, 
who  had  risen  from  their  seats  and  now  crowded  around  the 
two  priests. 

"  But  listen,  my  children," — he  began  gently. 

These  words  raised  a  tempest  of  howls  and  jeers.  From 
every  corner  cries,  groans,  hisses,  impossible  to  describe,  filled 
the  air.  The  old  man  shrank  back  and  raised  his  hand  to  his 
forehead. 

'  What  !  "  shouted  Rigault,  thumping  the  table  with  his 


174  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

clenched  fist  ;  "  you  are  smiling,  citizen  !  I  repeat  that  you 
will  be  shot,  and  in  two  days  we  will  see  whether  you  will 
smile."  Then  he  turned  on  the  Abbe  Lagarde.  "  You 
there, — who  are  you  ?  '' 

'  Vicar-General  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  whom  I  have 
the  honour  to  accompany,"  replied  the  Abbe  ;  but  Rigault, 
who  probably  imagined  some  affectation  in  this  response, 
shouted  furiously  : 

"  Here,  you  ! — don't  put  on  any  of  your  priestly  airs  with 
me.     You're  known  as  a  suspect." 

"  Monsieur  the  Abbe  is  truly  enough  my  Vicar-General," 
interrupted  the  Archbishop,  "  but  there  was  no  mandate  of 
arrest  against  him,  and  he  is  at  this  moment  beside  me 
because  he  consented,  at  my  request,  to  accompany  me. 
I  beg  you  to  allow  him  to  depart.'' 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  oh  !  "  cried  Rigault,  with  savage  irony,  "  the 
citizen  is  caged,  let  him  remain  caged  !     Your  name  ? 

"  Ernest — Joseph — Jean — Lagarde." 

"  Good.  Allons  !  Quick,  an  order  of  imprisonment  for 
Citizen  Lagarde, — and  pack  both  of  them  off  to  their  cells  at 
once, — separated  of  course — never  leave  two  priests  together  ! 
Captain,  take  them  in  charge  !  " 

The  captain  to  whom  he  spoke  was  grey-haired  and 
elderly.  He  had  a  pleasant  face  and  simple  bearing  and  did 
not  appear  to  share  the  fury  of  the  others.  While  Ferr6 
countersigned  the  order  for  imprisonment,  the  captain, 
raising  his  hand  slowly  to  his  white  moustache,  stepped 
forward  and  said  in  a  quiet  voice  :  "  Citizen  Rigault,  I  am 
an  old  soldier  :   I  refuse  to  accept  such  a  mission." 

At  his  words  a  sort  of  stupor  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  com- 
pany, but  Rigault,  fearing  probably  that  the  ominous  silence 
might  end  in  a  more  favourable  feeling  toward  the  prisoneis, 
turned  to  a  lieutenant  who  stood  swaying  on  his  spurred  heels 
near  the  door.  The  lieutenant  was  very  drunk, — so  drunk 
that  after  raising  his  hand  to  his  cap  and  hiccoughing,  "  Avec 
— plaisir,  mon  Commandant,"  he  neither  was  able  to  direct 
the  eight  soldiers  who  formed  the  guard,  nor  find  the  door 
without  assistance. 

In  the  meantime,  Philip  stood  on  the  table  in  the  next 
room  watching  with  fast-beating  heart  the  cruel  scene  passing 
in  the  cabinet  of  Raoul  Rigault.  He  was  alone  and  un- 
guarded, but  behind  him  lay  the  long  stretch  of  apartments 


HiOUL    RIGAULT  I75 

filled  with  troops  and  secret  agents,  and  in  the  room  in  front, 
he  knew  only  too  well,  a  short  shrift  awaited  him.  When 
Riganlt  turned  furiously  on  the  Abbe  Lagarde,  his  heart  sank 
and  he  crept  down  from  the  table  and  leaned  against  the  pile 
of  clothing.  Was  there  no  hope  ?  He  stared  wildly  about 
for  a  window.  There  was  one,  but  it  had  been  closed  with 
iron  bars.  Then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  piles  of  uniforms  arranged 
neatly  on  the  tables.  Hardly  knowing  what  he  was  about 
he  seized  a  pair  of  trousers  and  pulled  them  over  his  linen  ones. 
They  buttoned  without  difficulty.  In  a  moment  he  had 
caught  up  a  tunic  of  the  National  Guard,  flung  it  over  his 
shirt,  and  tucked  the  long  skirts  of  the  blouse  into  his  trousers. 
He  buttoned  the  tunic  to  his  throat,  clasped  a  belt  about  his 
waist,  and  found  a  kepi  which  fitted.  Through  the  open  door 
of  Rigault's  cabinet  he  heard  the  order  given  for  the  removal 
of  the  prisoners,  and  the  tread  of  the  platoon  advancing.  In 
desperation  he  flung  open  the  door  of  the  room  opposite  and 
walked  boldly  through  the  crowded  hallway  which  reeked 
with  the  smoke  and  stench  of  stale  tobacco. 

"  Where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurry,  citizen  ?  "  cried  a 
man. 

"  They  are  bringing  the  Archbishop  to  prison  !  "  replied 
Philip  ;  and  the  people  in  the  room  rose  and  crowded  forward 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Monseigneur  Darboy. 

Philip  kept  straight  on  until  he  reached  the  courtyard,  now 
packed  to  suffocation  with  a  sullen,  vicious  crowd. 

'  Where  is  the  Citizen  Darboy  ?  '    they  cried  when  he 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"  They  are  taking  him  to  prison  !  "  shouted  Philip,  "  make 
way  there  !  "  The  throng  parted  and  he  squeezed  his  way 
to  the  gate.  It  was  locked.  For  an  instant  he  stood  in 
despair,  bst  he  heard  the  measured  tread  of  the  platoon,  and 
then  a  wild  shout  from  the  crowd,  as  they  came  in  sight. 
There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  sprang  on  to  the  cross-bars 
of  the  iron  gate,  climbed  to  the  top,  and  dropped  to  the  street 
uninjured.  Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  Archbishop,  who 
now  appeared  supported  by  the  Abbe  Lagarde  ;  no  one  saw 
Philip  except  the  little  weak-eyed  jailer — and  his  yells  were 
lost  in  the  roar  of  the  mob.  So  when  the  jailer  reached  the 
gate  and,  flinging  it  open,  rushed  into  the  street,  Philip  had 
disappeared. 


176  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

CHAPTER    XV 

The  Awakening 

Jack  Ellice  awoke  with  a  sense  of  being  more  comfortable 
than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time.  He  turned  over  and  looked 
out  into  the  studio  ;  the  window  was  open,  the  sunshine  and 
the  blackbird's  song  came  in  together. 

"  Philip,"  said  Jack,  "  what  time  do  you  have  breakfast  ?  " 
Not  receiving  any  answer  he  sat  up  and  looked  at  Philip's  bed. 
As  it  was  empt}'  and  tumbled,  Ellice  concluded  the  hour 
must  be  rather  late,  and  he  stood  up  and  stretched.  Then  his 
eye  fell  on  the  note  which  lay  folded  beside  his  bed,  and  he 
picked  it  up.  By  the  time  he  had  read  it  he  was  very  wide 
awake.     A  clatter  of  dishes  came  from  the  studio. 

"  Joseph,  '  called  Ellice,  "  where  is  Monsieur  Landes  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Monsieur  Ellice,  isn't  he  with  you  ?  " 

"  He's  gone  !  That's  certain  !  "  said  Jack  to  himself.  He 
turned  irresolutely  back,  took  a  spiritless  plunge  in  the  bath- 
tub, dressed  hastily,  and  walked  into  the  studio.  The  clock 
pointed  to  half-past  eight  ;  Philip  had  already  been  gone  two 
hours  and  a  half. 

Joseph,  who  had  returned  with  the  milk  and  cream  jugs, 
eyed  Jack  with  doleful  persistence  until  he  responded  with  an 
equally  doleful  nod.  "  Yes,  he  has  gone  away  to  seek  help 
for  us  all." 

"  Je  m'en  doutais,"  snivelled  Joseph  ;  "  ah  !  Monsieur 
Philip  is  so  brave — mais — voyons,  Monsieur  Ellice,  nous 
etions  tres  bien  ici  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  were  doing  well  enough  as  we  were,  and 
I  wish  he  had  not  run  the  risk  just  at  present."  He  took  the 
letter  from  his  pocket  and  translated  it  to  Joseph,  who  was 
now  weeping  among  the  cups  and  saucers. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Joseph,"  demanded  Ellice,  as  the 
concierge  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "  was  there  any 
chance  of  the  Turcos  seeing  him  from  the  Rue  Notre-Dame 
when  he  dropped  into  the  Passage  Stanislas  ?  ' 

Joseph  did  not  know  and  of  course  feared  the  worst,  and 
his  melancholy  became  so  oppressive  that  Ellice  sent  him  out 
and  sat  down,  turning  the  letter  over  helplessly  in  his  hand. 
Tcherka  walked  up,  rubbing  against  his  legs,  demanding  her 


THE    AWAKENING  177 

breakfast  in  loud  tones,  and  Toodles,  his  nose  all  caked  with 
soil,  came  pattering  in  with  an  unpleasant-looking  bone  in 
his  mouth,  which  he  had  buried  some  days  before  in  the 
garden  and  had  now  resurrected.  In  a  few  moments  the  door 
above  opened  and  the  chatter  and  silvery  laughter  of  girls 
filled  the  studio. 

"  Good  morning,  Monsieur  Ellice,"  said  Jeanne,  coming  to 
the  edge  of  the  balcony  and  looking  down,  "  I  trust  you  slept 
well, — oh,  please  do  take  that  bone  away  from  Toodles  !  He 
will  drag  the  most  awful  things  into  the  studio.  Oh,  thank 
you  very  much  !  Bad  Toodles  !  No,  there's  no  use  wagging 
your  tail,  for  your  mistress  loves  Tcherka,  not  you  at  all  !  " 

"  And  that  is  what  we  do  not  believe,  do  we,  Toodles  ? 
said    Marguerite,    coming    out    on    the    balcony.      "  Good 
morning,  Monsieur  Ellice, — is  Monsieur  Landes  still  asleep  ?  " 

'  Very  well,  then,  we  will  put  all  the  cream  in  Monsieur 
Ellice's  coffee  !  "  cried  Jeanne,  leaning  over  the  balcony  and 
speaking  to  the  closed  door  of  Philip's  room. 

"  Monsieur  Ellice,"  laughed  Marguerite,  "  you  look  very 
sad.     Are  you  hungry,  and  have  we  kept  you  waiting  ?  ' 

'  Lirten  to  Tcherka,"  said  Jeanne,  "  listen  to  the  poor 
duiling  !  She  wants  her  breakfast  and  she  shall  have  it,"  and 
catching  Marguerite's  hand  in  hers  she  ran  down  the  stairs 
to  the  studio.  "  Joseph!  the  milk,  if  you  pi "  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac  stopped  short  and  looked  Jack  searchingly 
in  the  face. 

"  Monsieur  Ellice,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed "  he  began  awkwardly. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  Monsieur  Landes  ?  " 

"  No,  oh  no " 

"  Where  is  he  then  ?  " 

"  You  see "  began  Jack. 

'"  Please  tell  me  at  once.     Has  he  been  taken  ?  " 

"No — no — not   at   all,"    stammered     Ellice — "  only — but 

perhaps  you  had  better  read  this "  and  he  gave  her  the 

letter,  feeling  that  if  it  was  not  the  best  way  of  breaking  the 
news  to  her  it  was  at  least  none  of  his  choosing.  Jeanne  and 
Marguerite  read  it  together. 

"  You  see,  he's  only  gone  to  look  for  help.  He  wore  my 
market  gardener's  disguise — and,  as  he  says,  if  it  served  me 
it  will  him.  Oh,  he'll  come  back  all  right,"  said  Jack,  with 
a  jauntiness  that  did  not  deceive  anyone. 


lyS  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  I  am  the  most  miserable  girl  in  the  world.  I  make  people 
who  are  better  than  I  risk  their  lives  for  me,"  said  Mademoi- 
selle de  Brassac,  turning  away. 

"  Mais  non  ! — mais  non,  ma  cherie  !  "  said  Marguerite, 
tenderly,  "  it  will  not  be  long  before  he  returns." 

"  We  must  wait,"  answered  Jeanne,  in  a  dull  voice. 

She  took  the  head  of  the  breakfast  table  and  saw  that  the 
others  weie  served,  and  when  the  formality  had  been  gone 
through  she  sat  in  her  place  looking  out  into  the  garden.  At 
last  Marguerite,  frightened  by  her  deathlike  colour,  rose  and 
carried  her  with  gentle  decision  up  to  her  own  room. 

"We  are  two  unhappy  women,  dear,"  she  said,  holding 
Jeanne's  head  against  her  breast.  The  girl  sat  on  her  bed, 
leaning  on  Marguerite. 

"  You,  too  ?  "  murmured  Jeanne. 

"  I  am  more  miserable  than  you  can  be.  First  because  it 
is  my  own  fault,  and  then — ah  !  my  little  Jeanne,  you  are 
only  a  child.  You  think  you  know  what  it  is  to  love,  but 
you  do  not  know  yet." 

"  Why  is  it  your  fault  that  you  suffer  ?  " 

"  Because  I  threw  away  love  when  it  was  mine." 

"  How  did  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  Listen  !  My  name  is  not  de  St.  Brieuc.  That  was  my 
uncle's  name,  and  when  Tribert  called  me  by  it,  I  did  not 
take  the  trouble  to  correct  him.  I  am  married  and  I  lost  my 
husband  through  my  own  folly.  We  quarrelled  one  day  and 
I  would  not  be  reconciled.  The  next  thing  I  knew  he  had 
gone  to  the  war." 

"  Have  you  never  seen  him  since  ?  "  said  Jeanne,  full  of 
sympathy. 

"  Once — we — met.     He  treated  me  like  a  stranger." 

"  But  if  you  love  him  why  did  you  not  tell  him  so  ?  ' 

"  Ah,  little  Jeanne,  because-  of  shame  and  pride.  He  does 
not  care  for  me,  and  I  love  him." 

After  a  long  silence  Jeanne  spoke.  "  If  Philip  should  die, 
as  Victor  did,  as  my  father,  my  mother  have  done — I  should 
not  want  to  live  any  longer.  If  that  is  love  or  not — at  least 
it  is  all  I  know.     Life  is  too  sad,  it  seems  to  me " 

"  Love  is  all  there  is  in  life  worth  having.  Take  it,  Jeanne, 
when  it  is  offered  and  keep  it  when  it  is  yours." 


A    NEW    RECRUIT  1 79 

CHAPTER    XVI 

A  New  Recruit 

The  news  of  the  arrest  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  and  of  his 
Vicar-General  spread  like  wildfire  through  the  city.  The 
Faubourgs  rejoiced,  the  Madeleine  Quarter  trembled,  the 
Latin  Quarter  offered  no  protest,  but  cowered  in  dismay, 
listening  for  the  tread  of  the  platoon  and  the  terrible 
summons  :   "In  the  name  of  the  Commune  !  " 

At  the  Hotel  de  Ville  the  news  was  received  with  yells  of 
delight. 

'  The  old  wolf  is  trapped — now  for  the  cubs  !  "  cried 
Bergcret,  and  on  the  strength  of  this  he  added  another  band 
of  gold  to  his  glittering  sleeves. 

Billioray  sneered  openly.  "  What  a  fuss  they  make  about 
one  priest  ;  if  they  would  shoot  more  and  talk  less,  there 
wouldn't  be  a  priest  in  the  department." 

"  Then  there  would  be  nobody  left  to  shoot,"  objected 
Ferre. 

"  We  can  always  shoot  each  other,"  remarked  Rochefort, 
cynically. 

"  What  do  you  think  Thiers  will  do  ?  "  asked  Colonel 
Rossel,  who  did  not  join  in  the  general  rejoicing. 

"  What  he  has  always  done  so  energetically, — nothing  !  " 
replied  Assi  ;  then  turning  to  Bergeret,  who  sat  examining 
himself  in  a  small  hand-mirror,  he  cried  :  "  Yes,  there  is  one 
thing  Thiers  will  do  if  we  let  him.  He  will  talk.  His 
chatter  wearies  me.     I'll  stop  it  once  for  all  !  " 

"  How  ?  "  demanded  Bergeret. 

Without  replying,  Assi  sat  down  and  wrote  rapidly.  Then 
he  affixed  the  seals  to  the  order  and  handed  it  to  Bergeret. 
It  read  as  follows  : 

"  Hotel  de  Ville,  4th  April,  187 1. 

"  Formal  orders  are  given  to  cut  instantly  the  telegraph 
wires  between  Paris  and  Versailles. 

(Signed)     "  Assi, 

"  Governor  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 

"  Member  of  the  Commune." 


l8o  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Very  good,"  said  Bergeret,  with  a  smirk  ;     '  now  let  me 
try  my  hand,"  and  he  seized  an  order  blank  and  wrote  : 

"  General  Headquarters,  4th  April,   1871. 
"  Mon  Commandant  :   Until  further  orders,  the  Commune 
has  decided  that  all  trains  shall  be  prevented  from  leaving 
Paris  for  Versailles.     Enclosed  please  find  an  order  for  the 
Chef  de  Gare  of  the  Ouest-Ceinture. 

"  Le  General  Commandant  la  Place. 

(Signed)  "  Jules  Bergeret." 

Assi  looked  over  his  shoulder,  nodding  approval.  Bergeret 
found  another  sheet  of  paper  and  continued  : 

"  Order  of  the  Central  Committee. 
"  Stop  all  trains  coming  toward  Paris  at  the  Ouest-Ceinture. 
Place  there  an  energetic  man  with  troops,  day  and  night. 
At  the  arrival  of  each  train,  unless  the  engineer  stops  at  the 
signal,  the  orders  require  that  the  train  be  derailed  !  " 

"  Come  here  and  sign  this,  Tribert,"  cried  Bergeret  to  an 
officer  in  the  uniform  of  a  Chef  de  Legion. 

The  man  approached  and,  after  writing  "  For  the  Com- 
mittee," signed  his  name,  "  Tribert,  Commanding  the 
Legion." 

"  That  will  fix  them,"  chuckled  Assi,  rubbing  his  huge 
hands  together  and  eying  the  barbarous  order.  It  tickled 
him  to  think  of  the  carnage  which  the  derailing  of  a  train 
would  produce.  The  crushing  and  mangling  of  innocent 
passengers  would  be  a  spectacle  worth  seeing. 

"  It  will  be  very  droll,"  he  explained  to  Tribert  ;  "  imagine 
all  those  bourgeoises  dumped  out  like  snails  in  a  pan  !  ' 
Tribert  also  saw  the  exquisite  humour  of  the  thing  and 
departed  grinning,  with  his  hands  full  of  orders,  which  he  con- 
signed to  a  Hussar  of  Death  at  the  gate  below.  The  hussar 
dropped  them  into  his  pouch  and  struck  spurs  into  his 
cadaverous  horse,  and  Bergeret,  watching  him  from  a  window, 
smiled  to  himself  and  dusted  the  gold  bands  on  his  sleeve. 

As  he  sat  picking  at  the  gorgeous  lace  on  his  pelisse  with  the 
naive  delight  of  a  savage,  three  officers  in  the  full  uniforms  of 
Generals  of  the  Commune  entered  the  cabinet  and  sat  down 
beside  him  with  careless  nods  of  recognition.  The  three 
were  Eudes,  Duval,  and  Gustave  Flourens. 


A    NEW    RECRUIT  l8l 

"  Well,  gentlemen  !  '  burst  out  Flourens,  in  his  eager, 
impetuous  manner,  "  the  thing  is  decided  for  to-morrow 
then  !  "  He  turned  to  Duval,  a  small,  stern-featured  man 
who  had  once  been  a  worker  in  metals,  had  been  made  an 
officer  of  the  National  Guard  during  the  siege,  and,  ofter  the 
affair  of  the  cannon  on  the  18th  of  March,  found  himself 
suddenly  promoted  to  General.  It  savoured,  perhaps,  of  the 
"  Grand-Duchesse  de  Gerolstein,"  for  Duval,  like  Fritz  in  the 
opera,  was  promoted  in  five  minutes  from  a  simple  soldier  to 
commander-in-chief.  But,  of  the  four  Generals  of  the 
Commune,  Duval  was  the  only  one  who  possessed 
military  ability,  except  Flourens,  and  the  latter  ruined 
what  ability  he  possessed  by  his  fiery  and  headstrong 
impetuosity. 

Eudes  was  hopelessly  incompetent  ;  and  Bergeret,  an  ape 
with  the  vanity  of  a  peacock  and  the  ferocity  of  a  tiger,  had 
no  more  knowledge  of  military  affairs  than  a  volunteer 
colonel  at  Aldershot. 

'  Is  it  finally  decided  then  for  to-morrow  ?  "  repeated 
Flourens,  eagerly. 

'  Yes,"  snapped  Duval,  "  to-morrow  we  move  on  Versailles, 
and  the  troops  will  take  up  their  positions  to-night,  if  possible. 
Bergeret,  you  have  the  plan  ?  " 

'  Yes,  General — my  own  plan,"  replied  Bergeret,  with  a 
self-conscious  smirk.  He  drew  some  papers  from  the  breast 
of  his  pelisse  and  spread  them  out  on  his  knees.  Then, 
with  an  affected  gesture  he  began  to  read  : 

"  The  Federal  army  will  be  divided  into  three  divisions. 

'  The  first,  commanded  by  General  Bergeret,  will  make  an 
important  demonstration  on  the  Rueil  road. 

"  The  second,  under  the  orders  of  General  Duval,  will 
advance  through  Bas-Meudon,  Chaville,  and  Viroflay.  The 
Fort  of  Issy  and  the  Redoute  des  Moulineaux  will  protect 
them  with  their  fire. 

'  The  third,  conducted  by  General  Eudes,  will  operate 
along  the  Clamart  road,  traversing  Villacoublay  and  Velizy. 
This  corps  will  be  supported  by  the  Fort  of  Vanves " 

'  Where  the  devil  do  I  come  in  ?  "  exclaimed  Flourens, 
angrily. 

'  You  go  with  me,"  replied  Bergeret,  and  smiled  com- 
placently. 

'  Will  there  be  fighting  ?  "  growled  Flourens. 


1 82  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Plenty,  plenty,"  said  Eudes  ;  "go  on,  General;  what 
comes  next  ? 

"  Nothing  more,"  said  Bergeret,  folding  the  papers. 
"  Isn't  that  simple  enough  ?  The  objective  point  is  Ver- 
sailles ;  the  plan,  without  details,  is  this  :  First,  a  diversion 
toward  Mont-Valerien  ;  second,  an  attack  at  Clamart ;  third, 
flank  movement  by  Bas-Meudon.  Isn't  this  simple,  General 
Duval?  " 

"  D— ned  simple,"  muttered  Duval,  between  his  teeth  ; 
"  what  if  Mont-Valerien  fires  on  your  column  ?  " 

"  It  won't,"  replied  Bergeret,  with  conviction  ;  "  it's  held 
by  the  marine  artillery,  and  they  are  for  us." 

"  We'll  take  it  if  it  fires,"  began  Flourens,  angrily,  but 
was  silenced  by  a  gesture  from  Duval. 

"  Hark  !     Was  that  a  cannon-shot  ?  " 

They  all  rose  and  crowded  out  to  the  balcony  below  the 
window.  Again  there  came  a  deep,  distant  boom,  and  the 
window  panes  vibrated.  The  four  generals  of  the  Commune 
listened  to  the  cannonade  with  sparkling  eyes.  Paris, 
trembling  before  the  Central  Committee,  listened  also  to  the 
sound  of  the  cannon, — a  sound  which  for  months  had  shaken 
the  wretched  city  to  its  foundations.  Was  it  to  begin  again  ? 
Where  were  they  fighting  ?  It  was  the  Fort  of  Issy,  some 
said,  which  was  firing  on  the  barricade  at  Meudon. 

Behind  the  barricade  which  closed  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  at 
the  corner  of  the  Rue  Vavin,  the  soldiers  of  the  ist  Paris 
Turcos  were  lounging  over  their  steaming  camp-kettles  when 
the  echoes  of  the  first  cannon-shot  from  the  Fort  of  Issy 
floated  into  the  city  on  the  April  breeze. 

Andre  Sarre,  in  the  full  uniform  of  a  colonel  of  Turcos,  was 
squatting  on  the  top  of  the  barricade  scowling  at  a  letter 
which  he  held  in  his  pudgy  hands.  At  the  sound  of  the 
distant  cannon-shot  he  raised  his  head  and  his  features 
resumed  their  normal  aspect,  which,  at  first  glance,  seemed 
a  merry  one. 

"  Tiens  !  "  he  said,  "  Monsieur  Thiers  is  beginning."  Then 
he  looked  at  the  letter  in  his  hand  and  scowled  again. 

A  Turco,  strolling  near,  began  to  sing  a  little  song  : 

"  On  dira,  quand  il  sera  molt, 
Pour  glorifier  sa  memoire  : 
Ci-git  celui  qui  vient  encore 
Do  d61ivrer  le  Urritoire  !  " 


A    NEW    RECRUIT  183 

This  tickled  Sarre,  and  he  called  the  soldier  to  him. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  where  did  you  learn  that  touching 
song  ?  " 

'  Mon  Colonel,"  replied  the  Turco,  seriously,  "  everybody 
is  singing  it." 

"  But  Thiers  isn't  dead  yet." 

"  He  may  be  before  long,  mon  Colonel." 

"  That  would  be  too  much  happiness,"  said  Sarre  ;  "  look 
out  !  your  song  will  bring  us  bad  luck.  Good  luck  is  like 
game,  when  you  sight  it  too  far  off,  you  miss  it.  Don't 
cherish  illusions  !  " 

"  Illusions  are  the  daily  bread  of  the  unhappy,  mon 
Colonel." 

Sarre  pretended  to  misunderstand  him.  "  D — n  it  !  "  he 
cried,  "  don't  you  get  enough  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Under  the  Commune  we  have  food  and  liberty,"  replied 
the  soldier,  with  a  grimace. 

"  Have  you  any  complaint  concerning  the  quality  of 
either?  "  asked  Sarre. 

'  The  food  is  good,"  said  the  soldier,  musingly. 

"  And  the  liberty  ?  " 

The  soldier  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Liberty  is  the 
tyranny  of  the  street  with  a  Marseillaise  accompaniment," 
quoted  the  soldier. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  sneered  Sarre,  "  a  private  soldier  and 
such  a  philosopher  !  Wonderful  !  Wonderful  !  Now,  my 
friend,  you  can  go  and  exercise  your  philosophy  in  splitting 
wood  with  the  corvee.  About  !  March  !  '  The  soldier 
saluted  and  turned  quietly  away  to  follow  the  corvee  which 
was  passing. 

"  I'll  fix  you,  my  philosopher  !  I'll  fix  you,  my 
Plato  !  " 

"  Fix  whom  ?  "  enquired  a  captain,  coming  up  and  barely 
touching  his  cap  in  salute. 

"  See  here,  Weser,"  said  Sarre,  turning  on  h;m  with  a 
disagreeable  smile,  "  you're  getting  too  damned  familiar. 
Don't  you  know  how  to  salute  ?  " 

Weser  muttered  an  apology  and  stole  a  glance  at  his 
superior. 

"  I'm  a  bit  out  of  humour,  Isidore,"  said  Sarre  with  affected 
heartiness, — "  don't  mind  ;  you  salute  well  enough.  I've 
just  got  a  letter  from  Raoul  Rigault.     He's  lost  his  head 

N 


1 84  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

since  he  turned  Policeman  General.  He's  too  cursed  over- 
bearing and  insolent." 

Weser  saw  through  Sarre.  "  Oh,"  he  thought,  "  Sarre's 
had  a  row  with  Rigault  and  can't  afford  to  quarrel  with  his 
subordinate  officers. "  Then  he  said  with  insolent  familiarity, 
"what's  the  trouble,  Andre?  " 

Sarre  let  his  eyes  rest  for  one  second  on  Weser 's  oily  face, 
but  his  smile  was  very  guileless,  as  he  held  out  the  letter  with 
a  shrug. 

Weser  took  it  and  read  aloud  : 

"  Order  is  given  to  the  Citizen  Colonel  Sarre,  temporarily  com- 
manding the  First  Battalion  of  Paris  Turcos,  to  turn  over  to  the  Preset 
of  Police  all  moneys,  jewellery,  objects  of  art,  religious  emblems,  and 
vestments,  which  were  taken  from  churches,  convents,  and  other 
buildings  inhabited  or  frequented  by  priests,  Jesuits,  or  nuns,  and 
which  were  visited  by  the  soldiers  of  the  battalion  commanded  by 
Colonel  Sarre.  (Signed)         Raoul  Rigault, 

*'  Prefet  of  Police." 

Weser  whistled,  folded  up  the  paper,  handed  it  back  to 
Sarre,  and  whistled  again. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?  "  demanded  Sarre.  His 
features  looked  very  placid,  but  the  end  of  his  fat  nose  was 
white  with  rage,  and  his  teeth  clicked  together. 

"  Are  you  going  to  do  it  ?  "  asked  Weser,  softly. 

Sarre  snorted  furiously.  "  If  you  can  afford  to  give  up 
your  share,  of  course  I  can." 

"  But  I  can't,"  said  Weser,  still  more  softly. 

"  Neither  can  I,"  said  Sarre. 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well." 

"  We  can  send  a  few  things,"  suggested  Sarre. 

"  Yes— a  few." 

"  Everybody  can  contribute." 

"  Yes  ;   not  too  much." 

"  No,  not  too  much." 

"  If  we  are  questioned  ?  " 

"We  hang  together." 

"  We  hang  together." 

"  C'est  entendu  ?  " 

"  Tope-la  !  " 


A    NEW    RECRUIT  1 85 

They  shook  hands  warily. 

'  I'll  see  the  others,"  observed  Sarre  ;  then  bursting  into 
uncontrollable  rage  ;  "  why  can't  he  be  satisfied  with  his  own 
pickings  ?  They're  rich  enough  !  If  he  chooses,  he  can  loot 
the  whole  of  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine  !  " 

"  Including  the  Bank  of  France  !  "  said  Weser,  with 
sparkling  eyes. 

Sarre  grinned  like  a  hyena.  "  We  owe  nothing  to  Raoul 
Rigault, — remember  that  !  " 

"  I'll  remember,"  said  Weser,  his  black  eyes  glittering. 

Sarre  scrambled  heavily  down  from  the  top  of  the  barricade 
and  stood  irresolutely,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  bread 
back. 

"  He's  thinking  he's  said  too  much,"  mused  Weser.  "  He's 
wrong,  the  fat  fox  !  I  can't  afford  to  give  up  my  pile  for  the 
sake  of  pushing  him  to  a  wall.  Then  he  spoke  aloud  : 
"  What  was  the  firing  ?    Is  Thiers  beginning  the  music  ?  " 

"  Probably,"  said  Sarre,  carelessly. 

"  Then  we  will  go  to  the  front  ?  " 

"  Probably,"  yawned  Sarre. 

Weser,  who  had  no  stomach  for  fighting,  fidgeted  about 
until  the  heavy  report  of  a  cannon  from  the  nearer  fortifi- 
cations aroused  the  whole  garrison  of  the  barricade.  Weser 
turned  a  little  pale  and  stood  stock-still. 

'  Hey  !  "  exclaimed  Sarre,  laughing,  "  that  sounds  like 
business  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  a  furious  clatter  of  hoofs  from 
the  Rue  Vavin,  and  a  Hussar  of  Death  whirled  up  the 
street  and  threw  his  horse  back  on  his  haunches  before  the 
barricade. 

"  Marching  orders  or  I'm  a  Prussian  !  "  cried  Sarre,  taking 
a  packet  from  the  hussar  ;  "  yes — we  start  at  five — it's  half- 
past  four  now.  I'm  d — n  glad  of  it  !  Weser,  order  them  to 
sound  the  assembly  !  Tell  Captain  Pagot  to  remain  with  the 
third  company  as  garrison.  Where's  my  ordnance  ?  Tell 
the  buglers  to  sound,  Captain  Weser." 

"  Idiot,"  muttered  Weser,  walking  slowly  toward  the 
camp,  "why  couldn't  he  let  me  stay  with  my  company? 
Pagot  always  gets  the  plums.  Sarre's  a  fool, — bullets  don't 
scare  him,  the  leather-headed  turtle  !  " 

He  moved  aside  to  allow  a  file  of  soldiers  to  pass,  who,  with 
fixed  bayonets,  were  conducting  some  prisoners  toward  the 


1 86  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

barricade  ;   then  he  resumed  his  course,  cursing  his  luck  and 
his  colonel. 

Sane  was  in  excellent  humour  again.  The  bugles  were 
blowing  from  the  camp,  the  drums  crashed  out  along  the  Rue 
Bara,  and  five  hundred  soldiers  tumbled  over  each  other  in 
the  hurry  and  excitement  of  departure.  Sarre  beamed, 
delighted,  rubbing  his  fat  hands  together  and  smoking  an 
expensive  cigar.  The  file  of  soldiers  who  were  conducting 
the  prisoners  passed  him,  and  he  called  merrily  to  the  corporal 
of  the  guard  to  halt. 

'  What  pretty  fish  have  we  here  ?  "  he  asked,  walking  up 
to  the  little  convoy. 

'  Prisoners,"  replied  the  corporal,  briefly,  and  saluted  as 
an  after-thought. 

"  Ah  !  Ah  !  "  smiled  Sarre,  in  great  good-humour  ; 
"  what  is  this  woman  here  for  ?  " 

"  Received  secret  letters  from  Versailles,"  said  the  corporal. 

"  Bah  !  That's  Rigault's  affair,— let  her  go  !  "  The 
prisoner,  a  thin-faced,  white-haired  woman,  dressed  in  heavy 
mourning,  bowed  her  thanks  silently  and  hurried  away 
through  the  Rue  Vavin. 

"  One  on  Rigault,  the  pig-headed  ass  !  "  thought  Sarre, 
delighted  at  being  able  to  disoblige  the  Prefet.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  next  prisoner,  a  young  man,  who  returned  his 
glance  boldly. 

"Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Alexandre  Ouvrard." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  without  answering. 

"  Speak,  you  fool  !  " 

"He  deserted  from  Franchetti's  Scouts  to  Versailles," 
said  the  corporal. 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you  ?  '  sneered  Sarre,  twirling  his 
revolver  over  his  thumb  ;  isn't  the  Commune  good  enough 
for  you  ?  Well,  if  you're  too  fine  for  this  world — get  out  !  " 
and  he  levelled  his  revolver  and  fired  twice  at  the  deserter's 
heart.  '  Take  him  away,"  said  Sarre,  coolly,  with  a  glance 
at  the  quivering,  blood-spattered  body  which  had  tumbled 
under  the  wall  of  the  barricade.  Then  he  replaced  his 
revolver  in  its  holster  and  examined  the  other  prisoners. 
There  were  two  of  them,  both  soldiers  of  the  Line,  and  he 
smiled  as  he  noted  their  uniform. 


A    NEW    RECRUIT  1 87 

"  How  is  my  friend,  Monsieur  Thiers  ?  "  he  asked  them, 
with  a  cold  smile. 

"  In  excellent  health, — to  hang  you  when  he's  ready," 
replied  one  of  the  soldiers,  contemptuously. 

Sarre  threw  back  his  bullet-head  and  laughed  until  the 
tears  ran  down  his  face.     "  He  is  delightful,  that  one  there  !  ' 
he  cried  ;    "  only  listen  !    Oh  my  !    Oh  my  !  " 

The  prisoner's  face  darkened. 

"  Murderer  !  "  he  said  between  his  teeth.  Sarre  burst  into 
a  fresh  peal  of  laughter. 

'  Oh  dear  !  "  he  gasped  ;  '  this  piou-piou  is  so  original. 
Take  good  care  of  him — very  good  care.  Give  him  a  nice 
large  house  to  live  in — let  me  see — I  think  Mazas  would  be 
large  enough.  The  other  one,  too — the  little  fellow  who 
seems  frightened, — give  him  a  nice  apartment  in  Mazas  also. 
Don't  let  them  over-eat  or  over-exercise.     Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  There  is  another  prisoner,"  said  the  corporal,  with  a 
shuddering  glance  at  the  murdered  deserter  whom  two  men 
had  tossed  into  a  stretcher  and  were  carrying  out  across  the 
Rue  Vavin. 

"  Bring  Km  here,  corporal, — and  you,"  turning  to  the 
guard,  "  take  these  friends  of  mine  to  the  Mazas  Prison  !  " 

The  platoon  moved  out  into  the  Rue  Vavin,  and  the 
corporal  went  away  to  bring  up  the  remaining  prisoner. 

Sarre  picked  up  a  handful  of  hay  and  rubbed  some  blood 
spots  from  the  toes  of  his  boots.  When  the  corporal  returned 
with  the  last  prisoner,  Sarre  was  still  at  his  toilet,  but  he 
raised  his  head  and  examined  the  man  who  stood  motionless 
in  front  of  him.  Then  he  drew  his  revolver  again  and 
cocked  it. 

"  You  can  go,"  he  said  to  the  corporal,  who  had  turned 
quite  white.  The  soldier  left  with  a  hasty  salute  and  Sarre 
stood  alone  with  the  prisoner. 

"  Stand  against  that  wall,"  he  said. 

The  young  man  walked  over  to  the  barricade  and  faced 
Sarre.  The  latter  raised  his  revolver  ;  the  prisoner  uttered 
an  exclamation  and  shut  his  eyes. 

"  Tiens  !  "  said  Sarre,  tranquilly  ;  "  I  thought  I'd  make 
him  jump."  He  smiled  at  the  prisoner,  who  still  held  his 
eyes  closed  convulsively.     Then  he  lowered  the  revolver. 

'  For  God's  sake,  shoot  !  "  groaned  the  young  man, 
hoarseby, — "  don't  torture  me,  Sarre  !  " 


l8S  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'  Look    up,  my   friend,"  said  Sarre,  "  you're    not  dead 
yet  !  " 

The  prisoner  gasped  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  You  don't  seem  anxious  to  die,  Monsieur  Landes," 
sneered  Sarre. 

Philip  stared  at  him,  his  face  ghastly,  his  eyes  bloodshot 
and  dim  with  horror. 

"  Pooh,"  continued  Sarre,  cocking  and  uncocking  his 
revolver,  "  what  is  death  ?  Nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  mon 
ami.  Death  is  but  sleep,  and  sleep  but  an  entre-act  in  the 
comedy  of  life." 

Philip  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

"  Lost  your  tongue  ?     Frightened  ?  " 

"  You  lie  !  "  said  Philip,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Sarre,  tranquilly ;  "  you  are 
frightened  almost  speechless.     Voyons,  admit  it  !  " 

Philip  was  silent,  but  his  eyes  grew  clearer  and  a  flush 
tinged  his  temples. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Sarre,  "  you  are  getting  over  your 
fright  and  are  ready  to  die  like  a  brave  man,  eh  ?  Oh,  I  can 
see,  I'm  not  a  mole.  What  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  do 
with  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  will  shoot  me,"  replied  Philip.  His  voice 
was  coming  back  again. 

"  What's  the  reward  for  you, — dead  or  alive  ?  ' 

"  A  thousand  francs." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"And,"  continued  Sarre,  "you  think  I'd  kill  a  man  for 
that?  " 

"  I'm  d — n  sure  you  would  !  For  God's  sake  fire  and 
finish  it  !  "     The  cold  sweat  rolled  down  his  face. 

Sarre  deliberately  raised  his  revolver  and  pulled  the 
trigger.  The  hammer  fell  with  a  metallic  clink.  Again  he 
snapped  the  weapon,  and  the  same  sharp  ring  followed. 
With  a  vile  oath  he  threw  open  the  breech  of  the  revolver  and 
jerked  back  the  ejector.  Two  loaded  cartridges  and  an 
empty  shell  flew  out,  and  he  picked  one  of  them  up  and 
glanced  at  the  primer.  Then  with  a  short  laugh  he  tossed  it 
to  Philip's  feet.  "You're  in  luck,"  he  chuckled;  "the 
hammer  hit  it  fair  and  square.  I'll  report  these  A-3. 
cartridges." 


A    NEW    RECRUIT  189 

Philip  leaned  against  the  wall.  He  looked  very  white  and 
weak  and  his  eyes  were  two  shadowy  hollows. 

"  You're  in  luck,  I  tell  you,"  repeated  Sarre,  closing  his 
revolver  and  jamming  it  into  the  holster.  "  Now  I'm  glad  I 
didn't  kill  you,  do  you  know  ?  Why,  it  would  have  been  a 
shame.  I  can  get  lots  of  amusement  out  of  you  yet.  Do  you 
think  I  want  that  reward  ?  No,  my  friend.  Oh,  I'm  very 
glad  those  cartridges  hung  fire.  I  missed  doing  that  hog 
Rigault  a  favour.     What  a  fool  I  was, — what  a  fool  !  ' 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  Rue  Bara,  where 
the  1st  Turcos  were  forming  in  heavy  marching  order.  Then 
he  looked  at  Philip  and  grinned.  "  Did  you  strike  Raoul 
Rigault  ?     Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  It's  true,"  said  Philip,  with  an  effort.  "  What  a  fiend 
you  are,  Andre  Sarre  !  " 

"  Now  you're  mistaken,  perhaps,"  protested  Sarre,  leering 
at  him.  "  Did  you  strike  him  hard, — hard, — and  in  the 
face  ?  " 

Philip  nodded  with  an  apathetic  stare. 

Sarre  chuckled.  "  I  heard  you  did.  What  a  shame  to 
shoot  a  man  like  you.  You  may  kill  him  some  day, — this 
Policeman  General  Rigault,  eh  ?  " 

"HI  live,"  said  Philip. 

"  And  me  too,  perhaps  ?  "  laughed  Sarre. 

Philip  did  not  answer. 

"  Landes,"  said  Sarre,  abruptly,  "  I  give  you  your  life." 

Philip's  face  reddened  and  his  chest  heaved,  but  he  only 
said,  "  on  what  condition  ?  " 

"  Now  bless  my  soul  !  "  laughed  Sarre,  "  what  an  intelli- 
gent young  man  !  What  a  shame  to  have  blown  a  hole  in 
him  !  "  Then  he  added  seriously  :  "  the  conditions  are  that 
you  kill  Raoul  Rigault " 

"  I  refuse.     I'm  no  assassin." 

"  But,"  sneered  Sarre,  "  you  just  said " 

"  What  I  do  I'll  do  on  my  own  account,"  said  Philip,  with 
a  desperate  gleam  in  his  eyes.  "  I'll  make  no  condition 
concerning  Rigault." 

Sarre  eyed  him  narrowly.  Then  with  a  shrug:  "I'm 
satisfied.    The  other  condition  is  that  you  join  the  ranks." 

"What  ranks?  " 

"  These— the  1st  Turcos." 

"  What  ?     You  know  I'd  desert  !  " 


190  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"Oh,  I'll  attend  to  that,"  observed  Sarre ;  "do  you 
accept  ?  " 

"  And  if  I  do  not  ?  " 

Sarre  called  to  an  officer  and  asked  him  for  his  revolver. 
The  officer  handed  it  to  him  with  a  keen  glance  at  Philip. 
"  What  cartridges  do  you  carry  ?  "  demanded  Sarre. 

"  B-3 — new  model,"  replied  the  officer. 

"  How  many  defective  in  a  thousand  rounds  ?  " 

"  None." 

Sarre  turned  with  a  smile  to  Philip.  "  Well,  Monsieur, 
will  you  join  the  1st  Turcos  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Landes,  without  hesitation. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  laughed  Sarre  ;  "  here,  sergeant, 
take  this  new  recruit  to  the  depdt  and  give  him  his  uniform 
and  equipment.  Assign  him  to  the  First  company,  Captain 
Cartier.  Tell  Captain  Cartier  I  want  to  see  him.  If  this 
conscript  hesitates  in  his  duty,  shoot  him  without  further 
orders,  and  instruct  the  company  in  that  respect.  Hurry — 
we  march  in  ten  minutes  !  " 

Weser  came  up  at  that  moment  to  report  his  company 
ready.  He  stared  in  astonishment  at  Landes,  who  was 
following  the  sergeant  across  the  square,  but  Sarre,  chuckling 
and  rubbing  his  hands,  gave  him  a  brief  outline  of  what  had 
passed,  and  Weser  nodded  approval. 

'  You  see,"  said  Sarre,  "  I'll  keep  him  well  guarded,  and 
when  we  strike  the  Versaillists  I'll  shove  him  to  the  front. 
If  he's  shot,  we  have  his  body,  and  Rigault  must  pay  up.  If 
he's  not  shot,  we  will  have  all  the  fun  and  then  turn  him  over 
to  our  friend  the  Prefet, — when  we  get  ready  !  " 

"  In  the  meantime  we  can  find  where  he  has  the  diamonds," 
suggested  Weser,  with  a  cunning  smile. 

'  Izzy,  you're  a  treasure  !  "  cried  Sarre.  "  What  a  fool  I 
should  have  been  to  shoot  him — so  soon  !  " 

Then  the  drums  rolled  through  the  Rue  Notre-Dame,  the 
shrill  fantastic  bugle  notes  echoed  from  square  to  square,  and 
Sarre,  climbing  laboriously  into  the  saddle  of  a  huge  grey 
horse,  drew  his  sword.  "  Forward  !  "  he  bawled,  and  the 
1st  battalion  of  Paris  Turcos  swung  out  of  the  Rue  Notre- 
Dame. 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  19 I 

CHAPTER    XVII 

With  the  Red  Flag 

Daylight  was  fading  in  the  room  ;  the  blackbird  whistled 
fitfully,  cocking  his  bright  eye  at  the  setting  sun,  and 
swallows  soared  and  sailed  above  the  chimney  pots.  From 
the  garden  below  came  the  clank  of  Ellice's  spade  on  the 
gravel,  followed  by  retreating  footsteps  ;  then  the  studio  door 
opened  and  shut  and  all  was  quiet. 

A  wandering  evening  breeze  moved  the  curtains  and 
touched  the  curls  on  Jeanne's  white  forehead.  She  lay  on  the 
bed,  her  head  on  Marguerite's  breast,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
dim  light  which  faded  and  faded  from  the  window  panes. 
Above  the  chimneys  opposite,  the  sky  was  still  blue,  but  it 
changed,  gradually,  to  palest  green  and  then  was  hidden  in  a 
mass  of  gold-flecked  clouds.  Little  by  little  the  clouds 
deepened  until  they  glowed  like  dying  coals. 

"  God  keep  my  husband  !  "  sobbed  Marguerite. 

"  God  keep  Philip  !  "  whispered  Jeanne. 

Then  from  the  north  came  a  deep  peal  of  thunder.  Jeanne 
sprang  to  her  feet,  her  hand  pressed  to  her  throat,  her  dry 
lips  parted.  Again  the  thunder  boomed  and  the  rising  night 
wind  bore  its  rumbling  far  into  the  city.  The  window-panes 
were  still  shaking  as  Marguerite  crept  to  the  sill  and  looked 
out.  Far  on  the  horizon  the  coming  night  advanced, 
shrouded  in  pale  mist.  In  the  vaguer  blue  above,  a  star 
sparkled.  And  now  from  the  north  the  sound  of  the  cannon 
grew,  increasing  like  the  thunder  of  an  ocean  pounding 
soft  sand. 

"  Cannon  !  "  whispered  Marguerite. 

"  Cannon  !  "  whispered  Jeanne. 

In  the  street  below  a  stern  voice  cried  and  a  bugle  clanged. 
Louder  and  louder  rattled  the  drums,  while  the  bugles 
chimed  harsh  chorus  and  the  hum  of  departure  swelled  to  a 
roar.  Once  a  sharp  report  rang  out  through  the  tumult  of 
the  drums,  and  Jeanne  glanced  anxiously  at  Marguerite. 

"  A  shot  !  "  she  said  ;    "  what  can  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  war,  my  darling, — war  and  death  !  "  and  the 
two  women  crept  closer  together. 

"  Hark  !  "  whispered  Marguerite,  "  someone  is  calling." 


I92  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

It  was  Ellice,  standing,  pale  and  excited,  in  the  studio 
below,  and  they  hurried  down  the  stairs  to  meet  him. 

"  Joseph  says  the  Federals  are  marching  out  of  the  barri- 
cade by  the  Rue  Vavin.  If  they  leave  no  guard,  I  think  we 
had  better  try  again  for  the  American  Minister's." 

Joseph  entered  hurriedly.  "  It  is  as  I  feared,"  he  said  ; 
"  they  leave  a  company  to  garrison  the  barricade."  Ellice 
looked  blank.  Jeanne  went  and  looked  up  in  Joseph's  face. 
Her  voice  was  very  gentle,  but  her  lips  trembled. 

"  What  was  that  shot  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  They  murdered  a  poor  devil " 

"  Who  was  it — do  you  know  ?  " 

Joseph  understood.  He  said,  looking  down  at  her  like  a 
father  :  "  Mademoiselle,  it  was  a  deserter,  named  Ouvrard. 
The  sentinel  in  front  of  the  convent  told  me  so." 

Ellice,  who  was  walking  up  and  down,  suddenly  blurted 
out  :  "  I  wish  to  Heaven  Philip  would  come  back  !  It's 
nearly  dark." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  waiting  for  the  night  before  he  returns," 
said  Marguerite. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Jeanne,  piteously. 

"  He  said  he'd  be  back  by  night,"  insisted  Ellice,  with 
querulous  persistence. 

"  It  is  not  night  yet,"  said  Marguerite,  quietly. 

Something  in  her  voice  made  Ellice  stop  and  look  at  her. 
Then  he  went  and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  "  I'm  making  a 
precious  ass  of  myself,"  he  sighed  ;  "I  must  brace  up  !  Of 
course,"  he  said  aloud  in  a  cheery  voice,  "  it's  not  yet  dark, 
and  anyway  he  may  have  been  detained.  Oh,  he's  all  right 
— he's  well  disguised,  and  he  is  too  wise  to  run  risks." 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  safe,"  said  Marguerite,  calmly,  and  gave 
Ellice  a  grateful  glance  which  sent  him  into  his  state  of  trance 
for  the  next  ten  minutes. 

Joseph  flitted  in  and  out,  setting  the  table  for  dinner,  and 
Jeanne  watched  with  a  heavy  heart  while  he  laid  a  place  for 
Philip. 

"  They  say,"  said  Joseph,  "  that  the  Archbishop  of  Paris 
has  been  arrested  to-day,  along  with  the  Abbe  Lagarde,  his 
Vicar-General." 

"That  is  certainly  a  lie,"  cried  Ellice,  reassuring  the 
horrified  girls  with  a  smile.  "  Fancy  them  daring  to  touch 
the     Archbishop  !  " 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  1 93 

"  It's  what  they  are  saying  at  the  barricade,"  growled 
Joseph.  '  I  thought  it  was  a  lie  myself.  And  they  say,  too, 
that  part  of  this  queer  Turco  battalion  have  been  looting 
churches  this  morning,  and  have  arrested  eighty  priests  and 
sent  them  to  Mazas." 

"  Pure  invention,"  said  Ellice,  confidently. 

"  It  must  be,"  said  Marguerite,  watching  Jeanne's  shocked 
face. 

"  That's  all  the  news  I  heard,  except  that  the  Fort  of  Issy 
fired  at  the  Versailles  batteries  near  Meudon,  and  there  is 
going  to  be  a  sortie  to-morrow.  The  Turcos  are  to  march 
with  Bergeret's  column " 

"Was  that  the  bombardment  we  just  heard?"  asked 
Jeanne. 

"  We  could  not  hear  the  Fort  of  Issy,"  said  Ellice,  with  a 
desperate  attempt  to  keep  conversation  going;  "it  must 
have  come  from  the  big  marine  cannon  by  the  Point  du  Jour." 

Nobody  spoke  for  some  minutes,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  hear 
Joseph  rattle  the  knives  and  forks  as  he  laid  each  cover  with 
elaborate  care. 

The  cannonade  had  ceased,  the  stars  shone  through  the 
glass  roof  of  the  outer  studio,  and  a  cricket  chirped  from  the 
garden.  Through  the  budding  branches  of  the  chestnut  tree 
the  new  moon  peeped,  a  thin,  misty  crescent. 

Jeanne  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  it.  There  it  glimmered,  a 
narrow  band  of  light  among  the  branches,  and  a  sudden  flood 
of  childish  memories  filled  her  with  tenderness  and  love. 
Very  innocently  she  thought  :  "  The  new  moon  is  over  my 
right  shoulder  ;  I  will  wish  for  Philip's  return."  With  her 
eyes  on  the  new  moon  she  repeated  her  wish,  unconscious  of 
her  childishness.  She  wondered  if  Philip  was  looking  at  it, 
wherever  he  was,  and  thinking  of  her.  She  wondered  and 
wondered,  and  dreamed  and  dreamed,  until  a  movement 
from  Marguerite  brought  her  back  to  earth  and  she  remem- 
bered. Then  she  prayed  for  him,  wherever  he  might  be,  and 
her  heart  seemed  bursting  with  its  weight  of  sorrow. 

And  the  man  she  prayed  for,  at  that  same  moment,  stood 
on  a  bastion  of  the  fortifications  and  prayed  for  her  with  all 
the  strength  of  his  love  and  passion  ;  and  as  he  prayed,  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  saw  the  new  moon  shining  in  the  sky. 

"  God  help  her  !  "  he  muttered,  looking  out  across  the 
shadowy  city,  where  the  twin  towers  of  Notre-Dame  loomed 


IQ4  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

gigantic  in  the  twilight.  Then  he  turned  to  the  north.  Far 
on  the  horizon  the  Fort  of  Issy  thundered,  and  the  brooding 
clouds  caught  the  dull  reflection  of  the  flashes.  From  the 
great  bastion  on  the  fortifications,  the  country,  sheeted  in 
thin  mist,  stretched  away  to  the  uplands  of  Versailles,  where 
thousands  of  little  points  of  light  twinkled — the  camp  fires 
of  the  loyal  army.  Farther  along,  the  wooded  heights  of 
Meudon  sloped  gently  toward  the  west,  where,  through  a 
notch  in  the  hills,  the  starlight  glimmered  on  the  waters  of 
the  Seine.  As  he  looked,  a  column  of  flame  poured  from 
beneath  the  arches  of  the  viaduct  by  the  Point  du  Jour,  and 
the  shock  of  an  explosion  shook  the  granite  redoubt. 

"  That,"  said  somebody  near  him,  "  is  the  cannon  on  the 
gunboat  '  Farcy.'  " 

He  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  black-hulled  craft  creeping  from 
under  the  viaduct,  but  the  banks  of  the  Seine  hid  her  again. 
Twice,  as  he  strained  his  eyes,  the  huge  gun  in  her  bow  flashed 
among  the  vibrating  arches  of  the  bridge. 

On  the  heights  of  St.  Cloud  lights  were  moving  in  sweeping 
circles,  and  after  a  while  he  realized  that  they  were  signals, 
but  could  not  read  them.  An  artillery  officer  standing  on  the 
breastworks  to  his  right,  night-glasses  poised,  was  reporting 
the  signals  to  a  gunner,  who  sat  with  a  lantern  on  his  knees, 
jotting  them  down. 

"  Seven,  one  !  "  cried  the  officer,  in  a  monotonous,  sing- 
song voice. 

"  Seven,  one  !  "  repeated  the  gunner. 

"  Seven,  sixteen,  seven,  one,  five,  nine,  seventeen,  one  !  ' 
cried  the  officer,  and  the  gunner  repeated  the  numbers, 
writing  each  one  as  he  called  it. 

"Why  don't  they  send -that  signal  officer  up  here, — he 
might  solve  their  cipher,"  observed  a  lieutenant  of  Turcos 
who  stood,  tablets  in  hand,  looking  over  the  messages  as  they 
were  handed  him  by  the  gunner. 

"  Seven,  six,  seven,  eleven,  nine — notice  how  often  the 
seven  occurs,  Lieutenant  ! — one,  seven,  ten,  one,  seven. 
They're  using  coloured  lights — green,  three  ;  red,  two  ;  blue, 
seven ;  green,  one  ;  blue,  seven — note  that  !  red,  one  ;  yellow, 
six " 

Philip  listened  wearily  to  the  sing-song  voice  until  three 
rockets  cleft  the  horizon  from  the  Vanves  fort,  and  a  cannon 
flashed  from  the  Clamart  buttery.     Then  far  down  the  river 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  1 95 

the  huge  gun  on  the  "  Farcy  "  bellowed,  and  the  fort  of  Issy 
replied.  It  was  the  parting  shot  of  the  night.  One  by  one 
the  signal  lights  faded  from  the  heights,  the  cannonade  died 
away,  and  a  hush  fell  over  land  and  river. 

Philip  stood  looking  at  the  fire  near  him,  where,  wrapped  in 
their  white  cloaks,  his  comrades  sprawled,  talking  together  in 
low  tones.  The  lines  of  camp  fires  stretched  in  curves  along 
the  fortifications,  casting  strange  shadows  over  angle  and 
glacis,  flashing  on  the  polished  breeches  of  ponderous  siege 
guns,  and  sending  showers  of  sparks  into  the  black  sky.  The 
smoke  blew  in  his  eyes  ;  he  rubbed  them  with  the  sleeves  of 
his  Turco  jacket,  and  the  bell  buttons  on  the  embroidered 
arabesques  jingled.  He  was  clothed  in  the  full  uniform  of  a 
private  in  the  1st  Turcos.  On  his  head  he  wore  the  scarlet 
fez  with  the  blue  tassel,  his  legs  were  hidden  by  white  canvas 
gaiters,  and  his  body  was  covered  with  a  turquoise-blue 
j  acket  and  zouave  trousers.  A  sabre-bayonet-sheath  dangled 
from  a  leather  belt,  clasped  over  the  scarlet  body-scarf,  and 
from  this  belt  also  hung  a  cartridge-box  and  a  rubber  water- 
bottle  covered  with  blue  cloth. 

He  glanced  across  the  fire  at  the  sentinel  who  moved  silently 
among  the  pyramids  of  stacked  rifles  and  knapsacks.  His 
own  rifle  was  there  ;  he  could  see  it,  locked  among  four  others. 
Battle-flags,  furled  and  sheathed,  lay  across  the  clustered 
bayonets,  and  a  few  feet  beyond,  a  pile  of  drums  glistened  in 
the  firelight.  Beside  these  drums  stood  a  group  of  officers 
enveloped  in  their  long  cloaks.  They  were  smoking,  and 
conversing  in  whispers,  but  they  all  seemed  to  be  in  good 
humour,  judging  from  the  low  chuckles  which  now  and  then 
escaped.  Philip  recognized  Sarre  and  Weser  and  his  own 
captain,  Cartier,  a  mild-eyed  young  man  who  loved  fighting 
with  the  passion  of  a  bull-terrier.  After  a  while  he  saw 
Sarre  move  away,  followed  by  Weser  and  others  whom  he 
did  not  know.  With  many  good-nights  and  jaunty  salutes 
the  group  broke  up,  Sarre  and  his  familiars  moving  down  to 
the  quarters  near  the  bomb-proof  below,  Cartier  and  the  other 
captains  strolling  across  the  parade  toward  a  rudely  con- 
structed shanty  where,  a  lantern  hung,  shedding  its  rays  over 
two  tables.  Soon  the  faint  clink  of  bottles  and  glasses 
indicated  their  occupation,  and  Philip  saw  casks  of  beer  and 
wine  rolled  toward  the  Colonel's  quarters  behind  the  bomb- 
proof. 


196  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

As  he  stood,  wondering  how  it  all  would  end,  a  soldier, 
wrapped  in  his  white  cloak,  rolled  over  and  sat  up  on  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  camp-fire  next  to  his,  and  Philip 
started  as  he  heard  him  say,  in  perfectly  good  English  : 
"  For  G-d's  sake  give  me  a  chew,  Con  Daily." 

"  Divil  a  wan  have  I,"  answered  a  voice  from  the  depths  of 
a  military  cloak  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

"  Then  give  me  a  cigarette,"  persisted  the  first  speaker, 
yawning  and  stretching.  "  Wake  up,  man  ;  you've  time  to 
sleep  after  taps.  And  you  too,  '  Red,'  sit  up,  you  lazy 
devil  !  '  He  shook  a  soldier  who  was  lying  before  the  fire, 
his  chin  on  his  hands,  and  who  responded  :  "  Aw,  what 
t'hell  !  " 

"  Con  Daily,"  repeated  the  soldier,  "  chuck  me  a  cigarette, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Now,  do  I  shmoke  thim  at  all,  at  all  !  "  grumbled  Daily, 
without  moving.     "  Ask  Red  McGlone  ;  he  has  some  plug." 

"  And  Red  McGlone  keeps  his  plug  ;  mind  that,  Con 
Daily  !  "  put  in  a  red-headed  young  man  with  well-developed 
under-jaw  and  a  tired  eve.  He  added,  apparently  as  an 
after-thought  :    "  What  t'hell  !  " 

"  What  the  hell,  is  it  ?  "  said  Daily,  sitting  up  ;  "an'  me 
lendin'  ye  the  loan  av  me  pipe " 

"  Who's  got  yer  pipe  ?  "  demanded  McGlone. 

"  Me  pipe  ?  Ye  have  me  pipe,  ye  murtherin'  divil  ! 
Gimme  me  pipe  now  !  " 

"  Charlie,"  drawled  McGlone,  "  have  I  got  his  pipe  ?  ' 

"I'll  have  me  pipe,"  persisted  Daily,  angrily  ;  "  Charlie 
McBarron,  ye  seen  me  give  it  un " 

"  Shut  up,  Con,"  said  McBarron  ;  "  I  have  your  pipe  all 
safe  enough,  but  I  haven't  a  d — d  thing  to  put  in  it." 
McGlone  slowly  produced  a  plug  of  tobacco  from  the  mysteri- 
ous depths  of  his  zouave  trousers  and  handed  it  to  McBarron, 
who  chipped  off  enough  for  his  pipe  and  passed  it  back. 

"  I'll  take  a  chew,  Red,  me  b'y,"  suggested  Daily,  and 
McGlone  tossed  over  the  plug,  from  which  the  Irishman 
gnawed  a  piece  and  tossed  it  back  across  the  fire.  Red 
picked  it  up,  thoughtfully  chewed  off  a  mouthful,  rolled  it  into 
some  cavern  in  his  bull-dog  jaw,  and  slowly  pushed  the 
remainder  into  the  depths  of  his  trousers. 

"  When  that's  gone  you'll  have  to  come  to  cigarettes 
again,  Con  Daily,"  said  McBarron. 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  197 

"  Will  I  now,"  snorted  Daily. 

"  Yer  gettin'  to  look  like  a  frog-eating  Mounseer,  Daily," 
said  McGlone,  sending  a  thin  stream  of  tobacco  juice  into  the 
fire.  The  hiss  of  the  saliva  in  the  coals  aroused  another 
Turco,  a  Frenchman,  who  protested. 

"  Aw,  dry  up  'r  I'll  sma-a-sh  yer  in  the  jaw,"  drawled 
McGlone,  with  a  contemptuous  shot  at  the  fire  again. 

McBarron  calmed  the  frenzied  Frenchman  and  sternly  told 
McGlone.  to  be  careful.  "  We  want  no  more  fights  now,"  he 
said,  "  you'll  get  your  bellyful  to-morrow  at  Clamart." 

"  Can't  I  spit  ?— what  t'hell  !  "  demanded  Red. 

"  You  hear  me,"  repeated  McBarron.  McGlone  glared  at 
the  Frenchman,  who  glared  at  him. 

"  Assez,  nom  de  Dieu  !  "  growled  Daily  ;  "  let  him  be,  Red 
McGlone,  ye  bull-necked  scrapper  ;  voyons,  un  peu  de  com- 
plaisance, mes  camarades  ! — Ne  crache  pas  comme  un 
voyou,  Red,  me  lad,  what  the  divil  should  ye  worrit  the  frog- 
eater  fur,  I  dunno  !  " 

"  If  you  do  that  again,  I'll  help  the  Frenchman  punch 
your  head,"  added  McBarron. 

"  What  t'hell  !  "  yawned  McGlone,  "  je  ne  crach  ploo,  esker 
say  bieng  mantinong, — you  monkey-faced  snail-eating " 

"  Shut  up,  Red, — can't  you  see  he's  satisfied.  Don't 
spoil  it,  do  you  hear?  "  said  McBarron,  angrily. 

The  Frenchman  lay  down  again  and  covered  his  head  with 
his  blanket.  McGlone  ostentatiously  expectorated  upon  the 
ground,  leered  at  the  fire,  and  observed  :  "  Aw,  the  regiment 
makes  me  tired,  see  ?  " 

"  'Tis  a  sthrange  rigimint,  sure,"  mused  Daily. 

"  Bum  !  "  said  McGlone,  sulkily. 

"  The  biggest  lot  of  cut-throats  that  ever  marched,"  said 
McBarron,  "  except  Billy  Wilson's  Zouaves " 

"  I  was  there,"  said  Daily,  angrily. 

"  So  was  Red  McGlone,"  sneered  McBarron  ;  "  both  of  you 
marched  with  Billy  Wilson,  and  a  bigger  lot  of  rascals  never 
left  New  York  City  S  " 

"Do  ye  refer  to  me  ?  "  cried  Daily. 

"  Aw,  dry  up,"  snarled  McGlone,  "  I'm  goin'  to  sleep  ; 
what  t'helf !  Yer  a  goat-faced  bum,  Con  Daily,  and  yer 
know  it." 

Daily  looked  around  for  a  brick  ;  seeing  none,  he  started 
to  his  feet,  his  mouth  open,  but,  as  he  was  on  the  point  of 


198  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

emitting  a  yell  of  defiance,  the  bugles  sang  out  "  taps,"  and  a 
group  of  officers  passed  with  a  guard  and  lanterns.  Philip 
crept  into  the  circle  of  firelight  and  drew  his  cloak  well  about 
him.  Before  he  could  find  a  place,  a  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder 
and  a  sentinel  pointed  to  the  next  camp-fire. 

"  That  is  your  squad,"  he  said  sharply  ;  "  go  !  ' 

When  at  last  he  lay,  swathed  in  his  mantle,  before  the  fire, 
he  looked  up  into  the  starry  vault  above  and  his  heart  sank. 
What  was  to  be  the  end  of  all  this  ?  Could  it  be  possible 
that  he,  Philip  Landes,  was  a  soldier  of  the  Commune  ? 

The  bell  buttons  on  his  embroidered  sleeves  tinkled  with 
every  movement  as  he  lay  there  shivering  and  crushing  his 
clenched  fists  over  his  face.  The  fire  flared  and  crackled  and 
the  smoke  blew  in  gusts  across  his  head.  He  could  hear  Con 
Daily,  at  the  next  fire,  still  muttering  threats,  while  McBarron 
soothed  him  in  whispers,  and  Red  McGlone  snored.  Wrhen 
he  first  heard  the  familiar  sound  of  his  own  language  he  had 
felt  for  a  moment  comforted  and  anxiously  hopeful,  but  now, 
the  ruffians  at  the  next  fire  seemed  more  distant  and  foreign 
to  him  that  the  worst  ragamuffin  in  the  battalion.  The  whole 
thing  resembled  an  awful  nightmare,— his  escape  from  the 
claws  of  Raoul  Rigault,  his  arrest  in  the  Passage  Stanislas 
just  as  he  had  started  to  climb  the  wall,  his  frightful  ex- 
perience with  Sarre,  and  his  hasty  march  through  the  black 
city  where  insurgent  thousands  lined  the  streets,  howling  and 
cheering  for  anarchy  and  the  Commune. 

The  death  of  Gcorgias,  murderer  and  robber  though  he  was, 
also  affected  him  strangely.  Even  when  he  had  stood  with 
eyes  closed  before  Sarre's  revolver,  trying  to  pray,  trying  to 
think  of  Jeanne,  a  vision  of  Georgias  flashed  before  him, 
lying  as  he  had  seen  him,  a  tumbled  heap  of  clothes  in  a 
widening  pool  of  blood.  In  his  ears  rang  a  voice  :  "Ven- 
geance is  mine  !  "  and  he  clasped  his  trembling  fingers  over 
his  ears  and  cowered  under  the  blanket,  while  the  terrible 
voice  repeated  :  "  I  will  repay  !    I  will  repay  !  ' 

When  at  length  he  fell  into  a  troubled  slumber,  the  voice 
ceased  and  only  a  distant  tumult  came  to  his  ears.  He 
dreamed  fitfully— now  of  the  garden  where  the  fountain 
rippled  under  the  lilacs,  now  of  the  white  face  of  the  old 
Archbishop,  now  of  rivers  and  rivers  of  splendid  diamonds 
which  caught  him  up— carried  him  away,  away  to  a  sparkling 
sea.     Then  he  dreamed  that  the  blackbird  was  singing  in  the 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  KJ(j 

almond  tree,  and  he  saw  Jeanne  come  out  on  the  doorstep, 
holding  Tcherka  in  her  arms.  He  strove  to  speak,  but  could 
not.  How  loud  the  blackbird  was  singing, — how  strong,  how 
piercing  !  He  started  up.  The  bugles  were  clanging  a 
frenzied  summons,  the  stars  sparkled  in  the  depths  of  a 
fathomless  black  zenith,  and  from  the  reviving  embers  of  the 
camp-fires  came  the  stench  of  simmering  soup.  All  about  him 
sleepy  soldiers  stumbled  to  their  feet,  and  stumped  away  in 
the  darkness  where  a  dark  line  was  forming,  and  figures 
passed  to  and  fro  with  scores  of  swinging  lanterns. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  somebody  beside  him,  and  he  rose  and 
hobbled  after  the  others.  Sarre,  in  a  fiendish  temper,  passed 
him,  followed  by  his  staff,  and  far  into  the  darkness  of  the 
early  morning  Philip  heard  him  cursing  his  Maker.  When 
the  roll  was  called  he  answered  to  his  name,  and  followed  the 
corvee  to  where  a  bundle  of  axes  lay  in  the  shelter  of  an 
embankment.  The  wood  was  oak  and  beech,  but  the  exercise 
did  him  good,  and  after  the  smoke-begrimed  pots  were  lifted 
from  the  fires,  he  drank  his  soup  with  the  rest. 

It  was  not  yet  daylight  when  the  battalion  swung  through 
the  gate  of  the  fortifications  and  marched  out  into  the  open 
country.  The  air  was  cold  and  fresh  and  sweet,  but  there 
was  no  wind  across  the  shadowy  plain  where  the  shredded 
mist  still  lingered  in  filmy  streamers. 

Philip  marched  in  the  first  company.  Just  ahead  of  him 
the  drummers  and  buglers  plodded  along  in  silence.  Ahead 
of  them  he  could  see  the  vague  forms  of  mounted  men  and 
hear  the  sharp  stroke  of  steel-shod  hoofs  where  Sarre  and  his 
staff,  who  had  ridden  on,  were  picking  their  way  along  the 
crowded  military  road.  They  halted  frequently  and  other 
regiments  passed  them.  Sometimes  it  was  a  battery  of 
cannon,  creaking  and  bumping,  the  horses  straining  under  the 
heavy  harness,  the  gunners  clinging  to  the  iron  railings  on  the 
caissons  ;  sometimes  a  turbulent  battalion  of  National 
Guard  infantry  ;  sometimes  a  column  of  Garibaldians,  red- 
shirted,  bearded,  and  swarthy.  Once  a  ghostly  troop  of  horse 
rode  by  with  muffled  hoof -beats,  the  gaunt  riders  shrouded  in 
their  long  mantles,  knots  of  crepe  drooping  on  their  shoulders. 
Even  the  ruffianly  Turcos  shrank  back  as  the  grim  troop 
trampled  past,  for  the  Hussars  of  Death  seemed  to  taint  the 
morning  air  with  the  odour  of  death  and  decay. 

Morning  was  breaking  and  still  the  troops  poured  along  the 
0 


J  HE    RED    REPl'BLIC 

military  road  toward  the  wooded  heights  beyond,  which  now 
loomed  up  black  and  mysterious  against  the  paling  horizon. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  battalion 
entered  the  Rond-Point  of  Courbevoie,  evacuated  a 
few  hours  before  by  the  Versailles  troops.  Philip  saw 
that  the  village  was  occupied  by  masses  of  Federal 
infantry  and  artillery.  As  he  stood  at  ease,  leaning  upon  his 
rifle,  he  heard  McBarron  say  in  English  to  one  of  his  com- 
panions, that  the  artillery  was  "  rotten."  It  certainly  did 
look  forlorn,  although  there  were  guns  enough  for  an  army 
twice  their  strength.  The  cannon  were  of  all  sizes,  shapes, 
and  calibres,  and  were  drawn  by  horses  hastily  seized  from 
omnibuses  and  cabs.  Behind  the  cannon,  long  files  of 
wagons,  furniture  vans,  bakers'  carts,  and  in  fact  types  of 
every  vehicle  to  be  found  in  Paris,  stretched  away  toward  the 
route  de  Rueil.  These  were  filled  with  provisions  and  arms. 
An  omnibus  bearing  the  sign  "  Batignolles-Clichy-Odeon  " 
rumbled  past,  loaded  down  with  cases  of  cartridges  and  casks 
of  powder. 

"  Correspondence,  si'l  vous  plait  !  "  cried  an  irrepressible 
Turco,  "  I  am  going  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  see  my  mother- 
in-law."     This  put  the  battalion  into  good  humour. 

"  Is  there  a  place  outside  for  a  poor  orphan  ?  "  shouted  a 
soldier. 

"  No,"  bellowed  a  National  Guard,  "  Monsieur  Thiers  has 
reserved  the  Imperial  !  "  The  officers  passed  along  the  front, 
laughing,  and  the  troops  began  to  sing  : 

'    Petit  bonhomme  vit  encore, 
Mais  !    Mais  !    Ma-a-is  !  " 

Philip  watched  the  "  marine  "  artillerymen  labouring  with 
their  huge  pieces  which  they  had  started  with  two  days  before 
and  only  now  were  placing  in  battery.  Suddenly  a  cheering 
broke  out  across  the  river  where  the  right  wing  of  the  army 
rested,  and  in  a  few  minutes  an  uncovered  carriage,  drawn 
by  two  horses,  traversed  the  Avenue  de  Neuilly. 

"  Bergeret  !  "  cried  Sarre  ;  "  Attention  !  Present  arms  !  ' 
It  was  Bergeret.  Glittering  like  an  aurora  borealis  in  his 
gaudy  uniform,  he  lounged  back  in  his  carriage  smoking  a 
cigarette,  insolently  returning  the  salutes  of  the  regimental 
commanders.  His  carriage,  preceded  by  a  Turco  who  acted 
as  ordonnance,  and  followed  by  a  gorgeous  staff,  pulled  up  in 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  201 

the  centre  of  the  square.  Bergeret  rose  in  his  carriage, 
turned  dramatically  toward  Versailles,  and  lifted  his  hand. 
It  was  the  signal.  The  drums  beat,  the  bugles  sounded,  and 
an  immense  clamour  arose  :  "A  Versailles  !  A  Versailles  !  ' 
Bergeret  in  his  carriage,  surrounded  by  twelve  cannon,  led 
the  column  ;  behind  crowded  three  battalions  of  the  National 
Guard,  the  24th,  the  128th,  and  the  iSSth,  cheering  madly. 
Then  came  the  1st  Battalion  of  Paris  Turcob,  Colonel  Sarre, 
marching  well  and  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices  : 

"  Void  le  sabre  ! 
le  sabre  ! 
le  sabre  !  ' 

which  was  so  appropriate  that  a  staff-officer  came  from 
Bergeret  with  a  request  that  the  Turcos  change  their  song. 
Unconscious  of  the  irony,  the  Turcos  refused,  and  General 
Bergeret  swore  under  his  breath  that  he  would  "  purge  "  the 
battalion  on  their  return.  Behind  the  Turcos  came  six 
more  battalions,  yelling  for  instant  slaughter. 

"  Their  lungs  are  all  right,"  sneered  Red  McGlone  to  Con 
Daily,  who  replied,  "  an'  I'm  thinkin'  their  appetites  is 
better  !  " 

"  Wait  until  we  get  out  of  the  village,"  said  McBarron, 
with  an  ominous  smile. 

"  Phwat's  there  ?  "  demanded  Daily. 

"  Look  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  battalion  wheeled  into  the  open  country, 
and  at  the  same  moment  Sarre  threw  up  his  hand  and  the 
captains  repeated  the  order  :  "  Halt  !  halt  !  halt  !  "  The 
three  battalions  in  front  had  also  stopped,  and  every  head 
was  turned  toward  a  great  grey  hill  which  loomed  up  in  the 
morning  light,  silent  and  weird  as  a  gigantic  tomb. 

It  was  Mont-Valerien. 

An  involuntary  shiver  passed  through  the  entire  column. 
Somewhere  among  the  shadows  of  that  hill  huge  guns  were 
hidden  ;  for  the  hill  itself  was  an  enormous  fortress,  and  it 
overhung  the  Route  de  Rueil. 

Bergeret  turned  his  carriage  and  rattled  along  the  front  of 
the  column,  chattering  and  jabbering.  "  It's  all  right,  there's 
nothing  to  fear,  my  friends"  he  cried.  '  The  fort  is  occupied 
by  the  marines  !  The  marines  are  for  the  people  !  The  fort 
is  with  us  !     Forward,  and  Vive  la  Commune  ! 


202  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Vive  your  grandmother,  you  empty-headed  ape  !  " 
growled  McBarron.  But  Bergeret's  words  inspired  confi- 
dence, and  the  troops  pushed  on,  until  the  head  of  the  column 
reached  the  turn  in  the  road  where  the  Route  de  Rueil  passes 
scarcely  eight  hundred  metres  from  the  fortress. 

Suddenly  an  awful  explosion  shook  the  solid  earth,  then 
another,  then  another,  then  three  together.  It  was  the 
Gibets  redoubt.  Almost  at  the  same  instant  the  upper 
bastions  of  the  fortress  were  belted  with  lightning,  and  the 
majestic  thunder  of  the  siege  guns  reverberated  among  the 
highlands  opposite. 

A  frightful  panic  ensued.  Some  of  the  Federals  lay 
mangled,  some  dead,  others  threw  themselves  on  their  faces 
to  escape  the  bursting  shells,  but  the  great  majority  of  the 
troops,  terror-stricken,  broke  into  a  wild  stampede.  In  vain 
their  officers  attempted  to  rally  them,  the  old  familiar  cry  : 
"  Treason  !  treason  !  we  are  betrayed  !  "  spread  among  the 
ranks,  and  drowned  the  shouts  of  the  officers.  Everywhere 
troops  were  throwing  away  their  arms  and  flying  in  wild 
disorder.  Artillery  horses,  panic-stricken,  dashed  about  in 
all  directions,  dragging  the  cannon  with  them.  Some  of  the 
troops  seized  the  horses,  and,  cutting  the  traces,  fled  to  Paris, 
ventre  a  terre. 

The  two  horses  attached  to  Bergeret's  vehicle  were  blown 
into  atoms,  but  the  "  General  "  escaped,  and  disappeared  in 
the  direction  of  Paris  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  Flourens,  the 
hot-headed  and  impetuous,  fell  with  his  skull  split  clean  in 
two  ;  the  commandant  of  the  24th  Battalion  was  disem- 
bowelled by  a  shell,  and  twenty-five  of  his  men  lay  dead  or 
wounded  in  the  roadway  ;  the  128th  Battalion  lost  a  lieu- 
tenant and  eighteen  men  ;  and  the  188th,  two  officers  blown 
to  smithereens,  and  fifteen  men  scattered  among  the  ditches. 
And  this  was  only  the  first  salvo  as  salute  from  the  fortress 
of  Mont-Valcrien. 

The  1st  Paris  Turcos  had  not  been  directly  in  the  line  of 
fire,  having  halted  almost  at  the  entrance  to  the  village,  but 
two  giant  shells  crashed  into  their  ranks  and  burst  as  they 
struck.  Three  men  in  the  first  company,  including  Cartier, 
the  captain,  lay  on  the  ground  ;  in  the  fifth  company  seven 
men  were  killed,  and  the  captain,  Isidore  Weser,  was  lying 
under  his  dying  horse.     Sarre  took  it  very  coolly. 

"  D n  you,"  he  cried,  wheeling  through    the    ranks, 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  203 

"  d — n  you  !  What  do  you  expect  when  you  come  out  to 
fight, — a  volley  of  confetti  ?  Steady  there — steady  !  If 
anybody  else  doesn't  like  it  I'll  give  him  something  he'll  like 
loss  !  Captain  Weser,  get  up, — here,  lieutenant,  just  give 
him  a  pull.  Your  horse  is  in  the  molasses,  but  you're  not 
hurt,  Captain  Weser.  I'd  like  to  hear  anybody  say  '  treason  ' 
in  my  battalion  !     Attention  !    lie  down  ! 

As  he  spoke  a  tempest  of  lead  broke  over  the  heads  of  the 
soldiers  and  the  rattle  of  a  mitrailleuse  echoed  from  the  lower 
slopes  of  the  fortressed  hill.  Two  men  were  wounded,  one  a 
boy,  who  screamed  and  pitched  headlong  into  the  ditch 
below.  Philip,  lying  on  his  stomach,  saw  Red  McGlone 
quivering  beside  him,  drenched  with  blood.  Daily  and 
McBarron  were  holding  his  head. 

'  Red,"  said  McBarron,  kindly.  But  the  wounded  man 
only  gasped  :  "  What  t'hell  !  "  and  his  life  went  out  in  the 
dust  of  the  Rueil  road. 

Philip  turned  anxiously  toward  the  looming  fortress,  now 
silent  and  crowned  with  clouds,  but  from  those  grey  battle- 
ments no  cannon  flashed  ;  only  the  billowy  sea  of  smoke 
belted  its  bastions.  He  saw  his  captain,  Cartier,  rise  from 
the  ground,  dazed  and  rumpled,  with  a  long  red  gash  across 
his  forehead  ;  he  saw  McBarron  methodically  examining 
Red  McGlone's  pockets,  and  as,  at  a  signal  from  Sarre,  he 
stood  up  with  the  others,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Weser, 
green  with  terror,  staring  at  the  fortress  as  though 
hypnotized. 

On  every  side  streamed  the  wreck  of  Bergeret's  corps, 
legging  it  for  Paris,  howling  like  Indians.  Two  guns,  the 
wreck  of  a  mounted  battery,  stood  uninjured  in  a  foot-path 
to  the  right  ;  the  cannoneers  had  cut  the  traces  and  galloped 
off,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  in  that  direction.  Sarre 
saw  it  and  leered  at  the  flying  troops.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
major,  a  stupid-eyed  Breton  named  Gloanec,  who  sat  on  his 
horse  and  watched  the  stampede  with  almost  as  much  emotion 
as  a  cow. 

"  Fine  view,  Major,"  sneered  Sarre. 
'  Yes,"  replied  that  officer,  without  visible  interest. 

"  The  jig's  up  in  Paris,"  said  Sarre. 

"  Ma  doui,"  replied  the  Major,  tranquilly.  An  officer  in 
the  uniform  of  the  National  Guard  galloped  up  to  Sarre  and 
saluted  nervously, 


204  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"Well?  "  demanded  Sarre. 

"  The — the  twenty  thousand  troops  of  the  reserve  across 
the  river — General  Bergeret's  corps,  have  gone " 

"  Gone  !  "  shrieked  Sarre,  leaping  straight  up  in  his  saddle. 

"  Gone, — run  awav,  Colonel " 

"  Then  by  G— d  !  "  yelled  Sarre,  "I'll  take  my  battalion  to 
Clamart  where  a  scented  monkey  doesn't  command, — by 
G — d  !  I  will, — I've  had  enough  of  tin  soldiers  !  Sound  the 
alert  !       Attention  !       By    columns    of    four — here,     take 

command,  Major ,  I'll  show  this  traitor  Bergeret  what  I 

can  do, — yes,  traitor  ;  I've  said  it  !  It's  the  word  !  I  may 
not  be  able  to  manoeuvre  a  battalion,  but  I  can  fight  ; — you'll 
all  see  ! — Weser,  climb  on  a  horse  d — n  quick,  or  there  may  be 
a  few  unpleasant  words  between  us.  Cartier,  can  you  ride  ? 
— good  ;  it's  only  a  scratch,  as  you  say.  Leave  the  dead  in 
the  village  and  detail  four  men  and  a  corporal  to  bury  them. 
Any  of  the  wounded  who  can't  come  must  wait  there  for  the 
ambulances.  So  they  ran,  did  they  ?  The  twenty  thousand 
National  Guards — ran  away  from  Neuilly  when  they  heard 
the  voice  of  Mont-Valerien  !  Look  !  there  go  the  Hussars  of 
Death,  trailing  it  for  Clamart.  Good  carrion  crows  ! 
Follow  them,  soldiers,  their  scent  is  keen  !     March  !  ' 

Actually  frothing  at  the  mouth,  Sarre  drove  his  spurs  into 
his  big  horse  and  wheeled  into  the  village.  As  he  passed 
Philip  he  pointed  at  him  and  cried  :  "  I  put  that  man  in  your 
keeping,  Captain  Cartier,  and  you  will  answer  for  his  body, 
dead  or  alive,  with  your  own."  Then,  cursing,  he  struck  his 
horse  savagely  with  his  gauntlet  and  plunged  into  the 
Clamart  road. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  the  battalion 
came  in  sight  of  the  fort  of  Issy,  which  was  commanded  by 
Cluseret  and  had  just  been  supplied  with  heavy  artillery. 
Under  the  protection  of  the  forts  of  the  south,  General  Duval 
had  massed  his  troops  in  two  columns,  one  occupying  the 
Clamart  road,  the  other  lying  under  the  Moulineaux  redoubt. 
It  was  the  best  disposition  possible,— far  better  than  the 
imbecile  manoeuvres  of  Bergeret's  army,— but  still  the  centre 
was  weak,  being  composed  of  possibly  five  battalions  supported 
by  two  batteries.  As  Sarre,  at  the  head  of  the  ist  Turcos, 
marched  under  the  Moulineaux  redoubt,  a  staff-officer 
galloped  down  the  hill  to  meet  him, 

"  Now  what  the  devil  does  this  peacock  want  ?  "  sneered 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  205 

Sarre,  but  he  drew  bridle  and  returned  the  officer's  perfect 
salute  with  equal  precision. 

"  General  Duval  supposes  that  the  arrival  of  your  battalion 
confirms  the  report  of  General  Bergeret's  disaster,  brought  in 
a  few  minutes  ago  by  the  Hussars  of  Death,"  said  the  staff- 
officer,  whose  name  was  Razoua,  and  who  had  served  as  chef 
de  bataillon  in  the  103rd  until  taken  by  Duval  as  aid. 

"  General  Duval  supposes  correctly,"  replied  Sarre,  and 
an  ugly  flush  stained  his  forehead. 

"  Good,"  said  Razoua,  "  General  Duval's  compliments, 
and  orders  to  deploy  your  battalion  as  skirmishers  at  Bas- 
Meudon  woods.  The  attack  begins  at  six  ;  the  signal,  a 
cannon-shot  from  the  fort  of  Issy.     It  is  almost  six  now." 

"  And  there  goes  the  cannon-shot  !  "  cried  Sarre,  in  great 
good-humour,  as  a  ball  of  smoke  shot  from  the  fort  and  a 
sullen  boom  rolled  through  the  woods  above. 

Shrill  hurrahs  rent  the  air  and  Duval's  battalions  poured 
out  of  the  Issy  crater,  through  the  Moulineaux  redoubt  and 
started  toward  Meudon,  cheering  frantically.  Before  the 
deep  reverberations  of  the  first  shot  had  died  away,  a  sheet  of 
flame  wrapped  the  bastions  of  the  Vanves  fort  and  the  thunder 
of  the  great  mortars  was  echoed  from  the  fort  of  Montrouge, 
while  the  Moulineaux  redoubt  flamed  and  pounded  a  deep 
accompaniment. 

The  works  held  by  the  Versailles  army  replied  at  once.  The 
batteries  at  Chatillon,  Meudon,  and  Bas-Meudon  raged  and 
blazed  ;  and  now  the  petulant  crackling  of  the  mitrailleuses 
could  be  heard  above  Bas-Meudon,  and  the  crash  of  platoon 
firing    sounded    in     the     direction     of     Clamart     village. 

Almost  before  he  knew  it,  Philip  found  himself  in  the  woods 
of  Bas-Meudon,  flat  on  the  ground,  looking  into  the  young 
growth  beyond  where  a  few  large  trees  relieved  the  monotony 
of  the  saplings.  Cartier,  his  captain,  stood  beside  him, 
watching  every  movement  of  his  company,  urging  on  the 
tardy,  cautioning  the  laggards,  restraining  the  feather- 
brained. 

As  far  as  Philip  could  see,  his  squad  was  alone  in  the  woods, 
but  he  heard  the  twigs  snapping  on  either  flank  and  he  knew 
the  rest  of  the  battalion  were  worming  their  way  through 
the  undergrowth  toward  the  heights  above. 

With  every  sense  alert  to  the  danger  in  front,  he  yet 
watched  his  opportunity  to  escape.     Captain  Cartier  perhaps 


206  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

divined  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  for  he  walked  over  to 
him  and  sat  down  on  a  log  beside  him. 

'  Soldier,"  he  said,  "  you  heard  what  the  Colonel's  orders 
are?  " 

"  Yes,  Captain  Cartier." 
"  I  shall  carry  them  out,"  said  Cartier. 
Philip  did  not  reply.     The  Captain  eyed  him  curiously. 
'  You  are  not  a  coward,— I  see  that/'  he  said. 
'  No — not  a  coward.     I  do  not  wish  to  die,"  replied  Philip, 
quietly. 

And  you  are  frightened  at  the  sound  of  the  shells  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  frighten  me." 
'  Why  did  you  not  run  this  morning  then  ?  " 
'  Because  I  didn't  have  a  chance,"  replied  Philip,  inno- 
cently. 

"  Ah — um— yes,"  said  Cartier,  twisting  his  blonde 
moustache, — "  er — you  do  not  care  for  the  Commune?  " 

Philip  laughed  in  his  despair.  "  Care  for  it  !  I'm  an 
American  !  " 

"  Oh  !    Are  you  the  same  Landes  that  Rigault  is  after?  " 
1  am. 

"  Oh  !  "  Cartier  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  stood 
up  and  said  pleasantly  :  "  For  my  part  I  wish  you  were  safe  ; 
I'm  no  hangman,  but  I  have  my  orders." 

'Thank  you,  Captain  Cartier,"  said  Philip,  as  the  officer 
hurried  away. 

Foot  by  foot  the  skirmish  lines  wriggled  forward,  their 
bodies  scraping  and  rustling  among  the  dead  leaves  like 
snakes  in  the  underbrush.  From  time  to  time  a  soldier 
would  clap  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  aim  at  the  heights,  but 
the  Captain  was  omnipresent,  and  always  kicked  up  the  rifle 
with  a  stern  admonition.  At  last  a  soldier  lying  next  to 
Philip  whipped  his  piece  to  his  cheek  and  fired.  Philip  saw  a 
vanishing  spot  of  scarlet  far  up  among  the  saplings,  and  the 
Captain  saw  it  too. 

The  ist  Turcos  had  struck  the  Versailles  pickets. 

When  the  echoes  of  the  single  shot  died  away,  a  silence  that 
was  almost  mournful  fell  among  the  troops.  Perhaps  they 
began  to  realize  that  they  were  fighting  their  own  fellow- 
countrymen  and  that  it  was  civil  war  which  had  begun. 
Cartier,  sad-eyed  and  stern,  drew  his  revolver  and  sent  his 
sword  ringing  into  the  scabbard.     A  Turco  near  Philip  tucked 


WITH    THE    RED    FLAG  20 J 

up  his  sleeves  and  made  one  or  two  preliminary  passes  with 
his  sabre  bayonet  at  a  young  beech  tree.  Minute  after 
minute  passed  in  silence  ;  the  long  line  slowly  crept  onward 
and  upward. 

Philip  was  beginning  to  feel  hot  and  thirsty  and  had  already 
started  toward  a  rivulet  which  trickled  between  the  stones  of 
an  old  watercourse,  when  a  movement  in  the  woods  above 
arrested  his  attention.  He  turned  his  head.  A  soldier, 
wearing  the  scarlet  cap  and  trousers  of  the  loyal  army,  was 
deliberately  aiming  at  him,  and  before  he  could  realize  it  the 
rifle  cracked  and  a  bullet  sang  past  his  ears.  Instinctively 
he  recoiled,  but  another  bullet  struck  his  tin  cup,  and  another 
whirled  up  the  dead  leaves  beside  him.  Crack  !  crack  ! 
crack — crackle — crackle  !  The  rifles  were  spurting  tiny  jets 
of  flame  from  every  thicket,  and  now,  as  he  peered  from  the 
shelter  of  an  oak  tree,  he  saw  the  red-legged  skirmishers 
dodging  about  the  woods  above,  crouching,  leaping,  stealing 
forward,  always  advancing,  until  the  report  of  their  rifles 
sounded  clear  and  sharp,  and  he  could  almost  distinguish 
faces.  The  Turcos  were  returning  shot  for  shot,  and  the  firing 
rippled  along  the  line  until  it  blended  in  the  distant  tumult 
of  the  forts. 

Philip  did  not  fire.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to,  except 
in  case  a  shot  alone  would  save  his  life.  He  intended  to 
desert  at  the  first  opportunity.  Once  in  the  hands  of  the 
Versailles  troops,  he  would  explain,  if  they  gave  him  time 
before  shooting  him,  and  if  they  did,  he  intended  to  take  his 
revenge,  rifle  in  hand,  on  Sarre  and  his  ruffians.  Even  the 
thought  of  his  duty  to  those  in  Paris, — to  Jeanne  above  all, 
could  not  overcome  his  fierce  longing  to  requite  with  bullets 
the  insults  which  had  been  heaped  upon  him.  Sarre,  he  saw, 
was  no  coward.  He  would  give  him  his  chance,  but  Weser  he 
would  have  shot  down,  if  he  could,  like  a  weasel  or  a  skunk. 
Yes,  he  would  give  Sarre  a  fair  chance, — not  that  he  deserved 
it,  murderer  and  thief  that  he  was,  but  he  at  least  was 
courageous.  Weser  should  be  simply  removed  like  other 
vermin — in  any  convenient  way.  As  he  stood  clutching  his 
rifle  and  thinking  of  his  just  vengeance,  a  bullet,  flying  from 
a  new  angle  across  the  woods,  struck  his  water-bottle, 
showering  him  with  diluted  brandy.  At  the  same  instant  a 
howling  storm  of  canister  tore  through  the  branches,  covering 
the  Turcos  with  twigs  and  bark.     Gust  after  gust  of  scream- 


208  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

ing  lead  whirled  over  them  ;  fiercer  and  fiercer  shrieked  the 
hail,  until  the  tempest  rose  to  a  whistling  blizzard  of  flame  and 
shell,  tearing  the  trees  to  slivers,  cutting  the  underbrush  like 
scythe?,  ripping,  splintering,  scorching  all  before  it.  Far  up 
in  the  wooded  slopes  the  flashes  of  the  guns  danced  and 
twinkled  like  will  o'  the  wisps,  and  the  rifles  of  the  Turcos 
made  no  sound  in  the  crash  of  the  cannon  and  the 
mitrailleuses.  Cartier,  cool  and  unscathed,  leaned  against  a 
sapling  pointing  out  the  Versailles  skirmishers,  directing  a 
shot  here,  an  advance  there,  earnestly  cautioning  his  men  to 
hug  the  ground  and  fire  slowly.  Twice  Sarre  and  his  staff, 
dismounted,  hurried  along  the  line,  scanning  anxiously  the 
heights  where  the  batteries  crouched.  The  second  time  they 
passed,  the  Major  was  struck  by  a  canister-shot,  and  they  bore 
him  to  the  shelter  of  a  tree. 

"  Curse  the  luck  !  It's  all  over  with  Gloanec,"  said  Sarre, 
brutally  ;  and  a  few  seconds  later  the  unobtrusive  Breton 
died,  with  perhaps  even  less  emotion  than  he  had  displayed 
in  living. 

Weser's  company,  the  fifth,  had  been  driven  in  with  trifling 
losses,  but  except  for  that,  the  ist  Turcos  held  their  ground 
well.  Their  timidity  at  encountering  regular  troops  had  fled, 
and  now  they  lay  firing  and  cheering,  and  crept  on,  inch  by 
inch,  until  the  red-trousered  Versaillists  found  the  pace  too 
hot,  and  their  skirmishers  began  to  fall  back. 

Captain  Cartier  had  been  watching  Philip  for  some  time, 
and  finally  he  came  over  to  him  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder.     "  You  have  not  fired  a  shot  to-day,"  he  said. 
Philip  was  silent. 

"  It  won't  do, — it  won't  do,"  continued  the  Captain  ; 
"  your  example  is  bad  for  the  rest.  You  must  fire, — you 
need  not  aim  too  closely." 

Philip  replied  by  levelling  his  rifle  at  a  stump  and  deliber- 
ately knocking  the  chips  from  it  with  his  first  shot. 

"A  sharpshooter  too, — well,  I'm  sorry, — I  am  very  sorry 
you  are  not  with  us."  Cartier  stood  a  moment,  thoughtfully 
twirling  his  revolver,  then,  stepping  into  the  middle  of  his 
company,  he  called  the  names  of  seven  men  and  a  sergeant. 
They  responded  instantly,  and  Cartier,  motioning  Philip  to 
fall  in  with  them,  pointed  to  a  slope  which  rose  to  the  left, 
divided  from  their  covert  by  a  gully.  "  You're  to  climb  to 
the  top  of  that  slope,"  said  the  Captain,  "  and  see  why  Captain 


WITH    THE    RED    EL  AG  209 

Weser's  men  are  allowing  the  enemy's  skirmishers  to  nip  us 
with  their  cross-fire.  If  Captain  Weser  needs  help,  send  a 
man  to  me  ;  if  he  is  holding  his  own,  stay  and  drive  out  the 
enemy's  sharpshooters.  I  suspect  they  are  over  there  near 
that  group  of  sycamore  trees." 

The  sergeant  saluted,  and  the  little  squad  toiled  across  the 
gully  and  slowly  began  to  mount  the  opposite  incline.  The 
slope  was  steep  and  densely  wooded,  but  they  arrived  at  the 
top  in  a  few  minutes  and  found  Weser's  men  popping  away 
with  no  thought  of  aim,  but  with  the  one  desire  to  make  as 
much  smoke  and  racket  as  possible.  Weser  himself  was 
sitting  down  behind  a  tree  in  the  rear — very  much  in  the  rear. 
The  only  reason  why  he  was  not  lying  down  was  his  fear  of 
Sarre.     He  could  have  stood  the  ridicule. 

Weser's  men  were  nervous  and  dispirited.  This  was  not 
war  according  to  their  ideas.  Where  was  the  white-plumed 
leader  on  his  charger,  dashing  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth  amid 
waving  flags  and  acres  of  bayonets  ?  Where  was  he  ?  Well, 
in  this  case  he  was  sitting  behind  a  tree  in  the  rear,  and  the 
white  plume  had  shrivelled  into  a  very  small  white  feather. 
The  truth  was,  Weser's  bowels  were  water,  and  the  fright  of 
the  battle  sounds  had  actually  made  him  sick  at  his  stomach. 
Murder,  robbery,  forgery,  he  could  easily  understand.  He 
was  not  afraid  to  slip  a  knife  into  a  man, — when  the  man  was 
looking  another  way,  but  this  zip  !  zip  !  z-z-tzing  !  of  the 
bullets  was  another  matter,  and  for  his  part  he  cursed  Sarre, 
the  Commune,  and  all  its  works,  and  wished  he  was  in  Paris 
and  safe  in  bed. 

Five  men  had  been  killed  in  Weser's  company,  two  of 
them  by  the  same  bullet,  and  Philip  saw  their  stiffening 
corpses  half  supported  by  the  tree  behind  which  a  cross-fire 
volley  had  caught  them.  The  sergeant,  a  tall,  good-humoured 
Alsatian,  was  posting  his  men  to  pick  off  the  sharpshooters, 
who  had  gained  the  sycamore  covert  and  were  now  able  to  fire 
into  the  centre  of  Weser's  men.  Philip  found  himself,  in 
company  with  McBarron,  behind  a  lichen-covered  rock.  On 
the  ground  under  a  neighbouring  tree  Con  Daily  squatted, 
his  eyes  blazing  with  the  fire  of  battle. 

The  cannonade,  which  a  moment  before  had  redoubled  in 
violence,  now  suddenly  subsided  ;  the  enemy's  rifles  were 
silent,  and  there  only  remained  dropping  shots  from  the 
Jurcos.     Philip  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  Versaillist  sharpshooter 


210  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

slinking  away  through  the  sycamore  thicket,  and  McBarron 
saw  him  at  the  same  moment,  but  before  he  could  pull  trigger 
a  deafening  cheer  rolled  from  the  trees  in  front,  "  Vive  la 
Patrie  !  Vivo  la  France  !  A  la  baionnette  !  "  and  out  of  the 
thickets  on  every  side  burst  swarms  of  fierce  scarlet  Zouaves, 
whirling  their  terrible  sabre-bayonets. 

Weser's  men  gave  them  one  astonished  stare — and  fled, 
but  the  Zouaves  turned  on  Cartier's  company,  snarling  like 
tigers.  Philip  and  McBarron  crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  slope 
and  looked  over.  Everywhere  the  scarlet  of  the  Zouaves 
was  mixed  with  the  blue  of  the  Turcos,  everywhere  the  stocks 
of  heavy  rifles  rose  and  fell,  and  the  sharp  sabre-bayonets 
were  crimsoned  to  the  hilt.  It  was  over  before  Philip  could 
catch  his  breath,  and,  as  there  was  no  quarter  (a  humane 
inspiration  of  Thiers),  there  were  no  prisoners.  Captain 
Cartier  lay  across  a  log  over  which  his  brains  were  dripping  ; 
beside  him  a  Zouave  stood,  cleaning  the  butt  of  his  rifle  with 
a  handful  of  dried  leaves.  All  who  had  not  run  away  were 
dead  or  dying.  Philip  saw  the  coup-de-grace  given,  and  his 
heart  came  into  his  throat. 

"  That,"  said  McBarron,  calmly,  "  is  the  difference  between 
real  Zouaves  and  counterfeit  Turcos." 

"  Horrible — horrible  !  "  murmured  Philip,  in  English. 

Daily,  who,  in  company  with  the  other  six  men,  had  come 
up  to  the  edge  of  the  slope,  turned  to  Philip  with  a  friendly 
gesture. 

"  It's  glad  I  am  ye're  no  frog-ater " 

"  We'd  better  be  going,"  interrupted  McBarron  ;  "  come 
on,  Con  Daily — and  you,  there,  whoever  you  are, — we  must 
get  out  of  this." 

"  Where  ?  "  said  Philip. 

"  Now  how  should  he  know,  me  cherub  b'y  ?  "  said  Daily. 
"  Come  on  ;   come  on,  the  divil  do  I  know  where " 

"  But  we've  got  to  git,"  concluded  McBarron,  as  a  bullet 
whizzed  by  them  and  a  dozen  Zouaves  started  into  the  gully 
at  the  foot  of  the  slope. 

"  Give  them  a  volley  !  Huroo  !  Whurro  !  "  sang  out  Daily, 
banging  away  with  his  piece  until  McBarron  grabbed  him  by 
the  neck  and  started  after  the  others,  who  were  legging  it  for 
safety.  They  caught  up  with  Philip,  who  had  suddenly 
decided  that  the  Versaillist  army  was  not  exactly  the  harbour 
of  refuge  he  had  been  seeking,  and  they  ran  on  through  woods, 


TCHERKA    HAS    AN    IDEA  211 

keeping  the  sergeant  and  the  five  others  in  sight.  Once  they 
passed  a  dead  horse  across  which  lay  a  Hussar  of  Death.  His 
lips  were  stretched  tightly  over  his  yellow  teeth,  and  his 
sunken  eyes  set  in  their  sockets  like  ivory  balls.  One  or  two 
brilliant  flies  buzzed  about  his  head. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

Tcherka  Has  an  Idea 

When  Mont-Valerien  opened  its  iron  throat  and  withered 
General  Bergeret's  column  at  a  breath,  the  majority  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Paris  were  still  sleeping.  There  were  probably 
exceptions  ;    there  certainly  was  one — Tcherka. 

She  had  slipped  out  of  the  studio,  unnoticed,  the  night 
before  and  made  straight  for  the  rose-bush,  which  unfortunate 
shrub  she  had  marked  for  ruin.  When  Joseph  came  to  lock 
the  door,  Tcherka  hid  behind  the  lilacs  until  he  had  dis- 
appeared with  his  lantern.  Then  she  knew  that  the  night 
was  hers.  A  night  on  the  garden  walls  all  alone  !  She  had 
never  been  allowed  to  roam  at  night,  but  she  often  longed  for 
the  revelry  of  the  moonlit  roof-tops  when  she  heard  other  cats 
burst  into  impassioned  argument  or  scuttle  over  the  tiles. 
Instinct  told  Tcherka  that  the  cats  who  gambolled  and 
chanted  among  the  chimney-pots  when  the  spring  moonlight 
flooded  roof  and  wall,  were  not  good  cats.  Tcherka  herself 
was  a  good  cat.  She  knew  this  because  Jeanne  often  told 
her  so.  Being  a  good  cat  she  desired  to  play  with  bad  cats  ; 
and  this  was  her  opportunity. 

Tcherka  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  mount  the  wall  and  explore 
the  delicious  unknown  in  the  next  garden.  Coquette  by 
nature,  she  even  coquetted  with  herself,  and  now  she  was 
pretending  to  herself  that  she  hadn't  the  slightest  interest  in 
whatever  lay  over  the  wall.  She  walked  about,  frisking 
occasionally  with  a  tempting  dry  leaf  or  a  particularly  enticing 
pebble,  then  she  polished  her  beautiful  claws  on  the  cherry 
tree,  leaped  softly  to  the  edge  of  the  fountain,  and  sat  down. 
Liberty  was  sweet  to  Tcherka,  very  sweet,  and  a  delightful 
sense  of  danger  thrilled  her,  for  she  was  a  maiden  cat,  and 
this  shadowy  moonlit  world  was  new  and  strange. 


212  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

She  had  sat  there  perhaps  ten  minutes,  and  was  beginning 
to  eye  the  wall  again,  when  a  swift  shadow  fell  across  the 
gravel,  and  the  ghost-Uke  silhouette  of  a  strange  cat  appeared 
on  the  very  wall  she  was  looking  at.  Tcherka  slowly 
stiffened  into  a  living  statue.     It  was  a  gentleman  cat. 

On  his  part  it  was  love  at  first  sight.  Perhaps  the  novelty 
of  Tcherka's  gaudy  scarlet  tail  may  have  settled  him  ;  but, 
however  it  was,  he  was  smitten — deeply  smitten,  and  he 
wasted  no  time.  His  courtship  song  was  weird  and  wonder- 
ful. He  reached  through  octaves  possibly  never  before 
traversed  by  any  voice  ;  his  deep  chest  notes  ended  in 
masterly  gurgles  ;  his  crescendos  were  crescendos  of  a 
virtuoso. 

Jeanne  de  Brassac  was  tying  awake  in  her  bed.  All 
through  the  long  night  she  tossed  and  turned,  thinking  of 
Philip,  pressing  her  throbbing  head  deep  into  the  pillows. 
Marguerite  had  sunk  into  a  heavy  sleep  of  exhaustion,  and 
the  starlight,  falling  on  her  face,  trembled  in  points  of  light 
under  her  wet  lashes.  Jeanne  could  not  sleep,  but  it  was 
nearly  morning  before  she  crept  from  her  couch  and  went  to 
the  window.  A  cat  was  sitting  on  the  wall  underneath, 
making  melody  as  he  understood  it,  but,  as  Jeanne  leaned 
from  the  window,  he  darted  into  the  shadows,  and  a  moment 
later  Tcherka  sprang  to  the  wall,  and,  looking  up  at  Jeanne, 
hoisted  her  tail  with  a  little  mew  of  recognition.  Jeanne 
looked  at  the  cat  indifferently  at  first,  although  she  knew 
Tcherka  was  transgressing  all  rules,  but  after  a  while  she  tried 
to  occupy  her  mind  with  the  creature,  and  attempted  to  coax 
her  in.     Of  course,  Tcherka  refused. 

'  Come,  Tcherka  dear,  come,  my  own  darling  Tcherka," 
whispered  Jeanne,  leaning  far  out  of  the  window. 

The  night  was  deliciously  cool,  and  her  hot  forehead 
throbbed  less  painfully.  Then,  as  she  could  not  sleep,  she 
dressed  herself  noiselessly,  threw  a  scarf  over  her  head,  and 
went  quietly  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  garden.  With- 
out taking  count  of  time,  she  moved  up  and  down  the  paths 
she  loved,  thinking  always  of  Philip.  It  began  to  grow 
brighter  ;  the  bells  in  the  convent  rang  for  half-past  four 
o'clock.  Jeanne  sank  down  by  the  stone-rimmed  fountain 
to  rest. 

A  second  later  and  the  city  was  shaking  with  the  thunder 
from  Mont-Valerien. 


TCHERKA    HAS    AN    IDEA  213 

At  the  first  shot,  Tcherka  gave  a  bound  of  amazement. 
At  the  second,  she  leaped  into  the  garden  and  fled  through  the 
ivy-covered  alley  toward  the  street  gate.  Jeanne,  who  had 
risen  to  her  feet,  pale  as  death,  saw  Tcherka  scramble  past, 
and  a  minute  later  realized  that  the  cat  had  made  for  the 
outer  gate.  Scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  she 
followed  her  pet  through  the  alley  and  came  to  the  gate  on 
the  Rue  Notre-Dame  just  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Tcherka 
flying  along  the  convent  wall  opposite,  toward  the  barricade 
on  the  Rue  Vavin.  Without  a  thought  of  herself  she  flung 
open  the  side  wicket  and  ran  across  the  street  calling, 
'  Tcherka  !  Tcherka  !  "  but  at  that  moment  a  terrific  salvo 
from  the  north  drowned  her  voice  and  sent  the  cat  scurrying 
on  toward  the  barricade.  Jeanne  ran  quickly  along  the  grey 
facade  of  the  convent,  always  keeping  Tcherka  in  view,  and 
she  had  almost  caught  up  with  the  cat,  when  a  burly  figure 
sprang  across  the  sidewalk  and  aimed  a  blow  at  Tcherka 
with  a  rifle  butt.  The  cat  dodged  and  flew  over  the  barricade, 
and  Jeanne,  who  had  followed  close,  turned  on  the  Turco  like 
a  tigress. 

"  How  dare  you  touch  my  cat  !  " 

The  Turco,  a  fat-jowled  youth  with  a  dull  eye  and  beardless 
chin,  stared  at  her  stupidly. 

"  How  dare  you  !  "  said  Jeanne,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  let  me 
pass  instantly  !  " 

Before  the  sentinel  could  open  his  mouth  she  had  traversed 
the  barricade  and  was  hurrying  across  the  Rue  Vavin  toward 
the  Luxembourg.  Then  the  Turco  came  to  his  senses  and 
ran  to  the  barricade.  "  Halt  !  Halt,  or  I  fire  !  "  he  called 
out,  and  swung  his  rifle  to  his  cheek,  but  Jeanne,  as  if  she  had 
not  heard  him,  kept  straight  on. 

"  Halt,  or  I  fire  !  "  he  cried  again.  She  did  not  even  turn 
her  head.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  lowered  his  rifle, 
raised  it  again  irresolutely,  and  finally  set  it  down  with  a 
bang.  He  was  not  yet  hardened  to  that  point  ;  and  when, 
aroused  by  his  warning  challenge,  the  guard  came  stumbling 
out  of  the  cafe  on  the  corner,  he  lied  to  the  corporal  and  took 
a  round  cursing  from  that  individual  without  a  murmur. 
Five  minutes  later  the  sentinels  were  changed  and  he  was 
relieved.  Ten  minutes  later  Jeanne  reappeared  at  the  barri- 
cade with  Tcherka  clasped  tightly  in  her  arms.  The  new 
sentinel  saw  her  and  brought  his  gun  to  a  charge.     At  his 


214  THn    RED    REPUBLIC 

challenge  she  shrank  back  a  little  and  then  stood  still.  The 
sentinel,  a  sensual  thick-set  fellow,  laughed  and  addressed 
her  chafnngly. 

"  It's  too  early  for  the  market,  Mademoiselle,  and  besides, 
we  Turcos  never  eat  yellow  cats, — only  black." 

"  I  wish  to  pass,"  murmured  Jeanne,  who  now  began  to 
realize  her  position. 

"  Tiens  !  So  do  many  people  who  can't  give  the  word  or 
show  a  pass.  They're  not  all  as  pretty  as  you,  though.  Come, 
let's  be  sociable.     Will  you  give  me  a  kiss  if  I  let  you  pass  ?  ' 

Jeanne  was  frightened.  As  she  stood  there,  hugging 
Tcherka  desperately  to  her  breast,  she  could  see  the  coarse 
face  of  the  sentinel  all  flushed  and  bloated,  with  little  wicked 
eyes  leering  at  her  across  the  barricade,  and  her  knees 
trembled.  There  was  no  use.  One  glance  at  the  man's  face 
was  sufficient,  but  nevertheless  she  tried  again  and  told  her 
story  with  a  faint  heart. 

"  And  you  followed  that  cat  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  From  where  ?  " 

"  From  my  house." 

"  Where  do  you  live  and  what  is  your  name  ?  ' 

Jeanne  was  silent.  She  dared  not  say  where  she  lived,  and 
she  dared  not  tell  her  name. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  sentinel,  with  an  impudent  grin, 
"  those  little  histories  are  very  pretty  for  children.  Come 
and  give  me  a  kiss  or  two  and  we  will  find  other  things  to  talk 

about  !  " 

Sick  with  fright,  she  turned  and  ran  down  the  street 
toward  the  Luxembourg  again.  The  Rue  Vavin  was  black  and 
deserted,  but  the  Rue  de  Luxembourg  was  brighter,  and  a 
stream  of  people  was  passing  along  the  gilded  iron  railing  of 
the  Gardens  toward  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard.  Jeanne  instinc- 
tively felt  that  she  was  safer  in  a  crowd  than  alone  in  the 
silent  streets,  and  she  hurried  on  and  mixed  with  the  moving 
people,  wondering  what  had  brought  women  and  children 
into  the  streets  at  that  hour.  What  to  do,  now  that  her  only 
refuge  was  gone,  was  a  question  she  dared  not  ask  herself. 

She  had  literally  no  roof,  no  bed,  and  not  one  penny.  Her 
misfortune  was  too  sudden,  too  terrible  for  her  to  understand 
at  once.  She  followed  the  crowd  of  men  and  women  because 
she  felt  safer  with  them  and  she  had  no  other  place  to  go. 


TCHERKA    HAS    AN    IDEA  215 

Where  they  were  going  and  why,  she  did  not  stop  to  enquire, 
but  she  hugged  Tcherka  close  and  slipped  along  beside  a  tall 
gaunt  grey-haired  woman  who  carried  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  in  one  hand  and  led  a  little  child  by  the  other. 
Once  or  twice  the  woman  glanced  at  her  without  speaking, 
but  as  they  crossed  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard  and  turned  into  the 
Rue  Bonaparte  she  said  abruptly  :  '  Why  do  you  take  your 
cat  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jeanne. 

The  woman's  voice  was  not  unkind,  and  when  she  spoke 
again  Jeanne  looked  up  into  her  sad  eyes. 

'  Is  it  a  father  or  a  brother  or  a  lover,  my  child  ?  "  said 
the  woman. 

'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Madame,"  replied  Jeanne, 
faintly. 

The  woman  stared.  "  You  know  where  you  are  going  ?  " 
she  demanded. 

Jeanne  was  silent. 

'  And  you  know  that  the  battle  has  begun  ?  "  continued 
the  woman. 

"  I — I  heard  the  cannon,"  replied  Jeanne. 

"  My  boy  is  with  the  Turcos,  the  First  Paris  Battalion," 
sighed  the  woman  ;  "  they  marched  with  General  Bergeret. 
They  say  one  can  see  everything  from  the  fortifications." 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  fortifications  ?  "  asked  Jeanne, 
timidly. 

'  Of  course,  are  not  you  ?  I  thought  you  had  a  brother  or 
a  lover  with  the  army  ; — you  are  out  so  early."  Then  she 
cast  a  searching  glance  at  Jeanne's  white  face.  "  My  child," 
she  said,  "  you  are  in  trouble.  What  brings  you  out  into  the 
streets  at  this  hour  ?  Tell  me, — I  can  see  you  are  good." 
But  Jeanne  drew  closer  to  her  and  hugged  Tcherka  tighter, 
saying,  "  let  me  stay  with  you,  Madame,  I  am  very  unhappy." 

Day  was  breaking  when  they  reached  the  glacis  of  the 
fortifications.  In  the  pallid  light,  thousands  of  figures  stood 
out  against  the  sky,  men,  women,  and  children,  who  had 
swarmed  to  the  bastions  when  the  heavy  voice  of  Mont- 
Valerien  awoke  them  in  their  beds.  The  city  gate  below 
was  open,  and  the  long  road  which  stretched  away  into  the 
country  was  crowded  with  people  who  had  come  to  see  a 
battle.  As  six  o'clock  chimed  from  the  city  bells,  the  first 
gun  from  the  Issy  fort  boomed  out,  followed  by  the  crash  of 
P 


2l6  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

the  batteries  in  all  the  forts  of  the  south.  A  moment  later 
the  Versailles  works  joined  in  and  the  artillery  duel,  which 
was  the  signal  for  Duval's  advance,  began  with  a  din  so 
terrible  that  many  women  left  the  fortifications  and  even  the 
gamins  looked  uncomfortable. 

Jeanne  sat  on  the  granite  parapet  overlooking  the  country 
below  Versailles,  clinging  to  Tcherka,  who  scrambled  madly 
when  the  bombardment  began.  Beside  her  sat  the  grey- 
haired  woman,  holding  the  child,  a  girl  of  six.  Below  them 
the  Seine  wound  through  the  plain,  curving  out  by  Neuilly, 
where  the  black  gun-boat  lay.  Clusters  of  red-roofed  villages 
dotted  the  plain,  with  here  and  there  a  tower  or  steeple  or  a 
patch  of  woodland  tinged  with  tender  green.  The  smoke  of 
the  battle  rose  above  the  Issy  fort  and  hung  low  over  Meudon 
woods.     Bas-Meudon  was  quiet  and  clear. 

"  My  name  is  Cartier,"  said  the  woman  to  Jeanne.  After 
a  moment  she  added  ;  "  you  need  not  tell  me  yours,  my 
child." 

"  My  name  is  Jeanne  de  Brassac,"  said  Jeanne,  simply. 

Madame  Cartier  started  and  turned  toward  her  with  com- 
passion in  her  eyes.  "  My  poor  girl  !  "  she  murmured,  "  my 
poor  girl  !  " 

"  You  have  heard  then  ?  "  whispered  Jeanne. 

"  Yes, — the  reward  is  posted  in  our  street.  Why  did  you 
tell  me?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Jeanne,  wearily  ;   "  I  trust  you." 

"  You  may,"  said  Madame  Cartier.  Then  she  told  Jeanne 
how  her  son,  who  had  been  a  carpenter,  was  already  Captain 
in  the  ist  Turcos  and  hoped  soon  to  be  promoted.  '  He  is  a 
good  son  to  me,"  she  said  ;  "  he  would  not  let  me  sew  any 
longer,  as  soon  as  he  got  work,  and  we  were  very  happy  until 
the  war  broke  out.  Then  my  son  went  to  Metz  with  Bazaine, 
the  traitor,  and  was  betrayed — sold  to  the  Prussians  !  Ah  ! 
He  has  suffered  from  the  thieves  who  now  come  to  crush  us 
into  slavery  with  Monsieur  Thiers  at  their  head  !  Do  you 
hear  the  sound  of  their  cannon  ?  " 

"  I  hear,"  sighed  Jeanne. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  have  done,"  continued  Madame 
Cartier,  hushing  the  little  girl  to  sleep  on  her  lap,  "  but  I  am 
sure  the  Commune  has  no  need  to  trouble  a  child  of  your  age, 
If  the  reward  for  your  arrest  were  millions,  it  would  not  make 
any  difference  to  me.     Are  von  ill  ?  " 


TCHERKA    HAS    AN    IDEA  217 

"  111  ?     Oh— no— no  !  " 

"  You  are  so  white." 

"  I — I  have  lost  a — brother, — my  only  living  friend." 

"  Was  he  killed  ?  " 

'  Oh,  no,"  whispered  Jeanne,  with  a  horrified  face  ;  "  he 
— I  am  afraid  he  has  been  obliged  to  hide  from  the  Commune." 

"  Mademoiselle,  be  thankful  he  is  not  out  there  among  the 
shells  and  bullets.  Mv  son  is  there.  Do  you  know  what  I 
feel  ?  " 

"Yes— I  do,  I  think." 

"  Because  you  love  your  brother." 

"  He  is — is  not  my  real  brother " 

'  Ah  !  my  child,  my  child  !  "  said  Madame  Carrier,  gently. 

The  terrible  thunder  from  the  forts  continued,  day  was 
advancing ;  the  two  women  sat  silent,  leaning  together. 
Under  her  grey  hair  Madame  Carrier's  face  looked  very  wan. 
Jeanne  leaned  over  and  kissed  her  withered  cheek. 

'  Mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieu  !  "  moaned  the  woman,  "  nous 
autres — nous  sommes  bien,  bien  malheureuses  !  " 

A  voice  from  the  gate  bflow  broke  in  harshly  :  "  Bergeret's 
corps  has  been  annih dated  by  Mont-Valerien  !  " 

For  a  moment  a  sort  of  stupor  fell  upon  the  people  who 
thronged  the  bastion.  Then  the  cry  arose,  "  Treason  ! 
treason  !  '  Everywhere  women  crowded,  imploring,  de- 
manding news  of  some  battalion  or  squadron  ;  the  officers  on 
the  parapets  were  overwhelmed  with  anxious  questions  which 
they  found  impossible  to  answer.  And  now,  in  the  roads 
below,  the  first  stragglers  from  Bergeret's  column  ran  up, 
howling  disaster  and  treason,  and  before  they  had  passed  the 
gates,  terrified  masses  of  Federals  appeared,  flying  from  the 
Pont  de  Neuilly,  horses,  cannon,  infantry,  and  baggage 
wagons  mixed  in  an  indescribable  torrent.  Awful  stories  of 
the  butchery  by  the  cannon  of  Mont-Valerien  were  circulated  ; 
some  sa;d  that  Bergeret  was  killed,  after  having  two  horses 
shot  under  h;m  in  as  many  gallant  charges.  It  was  perfectly 
true  that  he  had  had  two  horses  killed, — not  under,  but  in 
front  of  him, — dragging  his  carriage.  The  news  of  Flourens' 
death  drew  cries  of  anger  and  revenge  from  the  crowd,  as  the 
battalions  filed  past  and  entered  the  gate,  now  packed  on 
every  side  by  anxious  thousands. 

'  Where  are  the  Turcos  ?  "  cried  a  voice  on  the  glacis. 
'  Killed  to  a  man  !  "  shouted  a  frightened  Mobile, 


2l8  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Madame  Cartier  stood  straight  up,  quivering  all  over. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  a  heavy,  good-natured  officer  of  the 
National  Guard  who  had  climbed  the  glacis  to  watch  the 
entry  of  the  troops.  "  Nonsense  !  "  he  repeated  loudly,  "  the 
Turcos  are  all  right.  They  were  not  in  the  line  of  fire,  and 
they  didn't  run  away  as  we  did." 

Then  the  crowd  cheered  for  the  Turcos,  and  some  even 
began  to  jeer  at  the  National  Guard  battalions  as  they 
streamed  along  below  toward  the  centre  of  the  city. 

A  soldier  came  out  of  the  telegraph  station  and  posted  up 
on  the  wall  a  despatch  which  claimed  a  victory  for  Bergeret, 
and  ended  :  "  Have  no  fear  !  All  goes  well  with  our  troops. 
Bergeret  himself  is  there  !  " 

This  evoked  a  storm  of  derision. 

'  Bergeret  himself?  And  who  is  Bergeret  himself? " 
yelled  a  gamin. 

A  roar  of  angry  laughter  followed  ;  and  from  that  day  the 
imbecile  Bergeret  was  known  from  one  end  of  France  to  the 
other  as  "  Bergeret  Himself." 

"  Victory  ?  "  cried  one,  "  if  this  is  victory,  give  me  disaster 
and  defeat  !  " 

"  They  are  running  very  fast  from  their  field  of  triumph  !  " 
shouted  another. 

Madame  Cartier  approached  the  good-natured  Nationa] 
Guard  who  had  spoken  so  frankly  about  his  own  flight  and 
the  probable  safety  of  the  Turcos. 

'  How  do  you  know  the  Turcos  are  safe  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Because  I  saw  them  marching  in  good  order  toward  the 
Clamart  road.  They  have  probably  gone  to  join  General 
Duval, — who  is  a  general,"  replied  the  officer,  while  he  filled 
his  pipe  with  perfect  equanimity. 

"Do  you  know  Captain  Cartier?  " 

"  I  do,  Madame,  and  all  his  company." 

"  Is  he  safe  ?  " 

'  I  saw  him  with  his  company,  filing  through  the  village 
after  the  fortress  had  ceased  firing." 

"  Was  anybody  killed  in  his  company  ?  " 
'  I  saw  an  American  named  McGlone  lying  dead " 

Jeanne  caught  the  words  "  dead  "  and  "  American,"  and 
drew  near,  holding  tightly  to  Tcherka.  "  An  American 
dead  ?  "  she  asked  ;   "  where  ?  " 

"  In  the  Rueil  road,  Madame." 


TCHERKA    HAS    AN    IDEA  210, 

"  When  ?  " 

"  When  the  fortress  was  peppering  us." 

"Did  you  know  this  American  ?  " 

r<  Oh,  yes — I  camped  last  night  with  my  comrade  Cartier, 
and  I  saw  several  Americans  in  the  battalion, — one  a  new 
man,  just  brought  in.  He  didn't  seem  very  happy,  and 
Cartier  said  that  Sarre,  the  Colonel,  hated  him." 

"  A  soldier  ?  "  enquired  Jeanne. 

"Yes." 

Jeanne  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  but  before  she 
had  taken  two  steps  she  heard  the  officer  say  :  "  Madame, 
that  new  recruit  answered  to  the  description  of  the  man 
Landes,  whom  Raoul  Rigault  is  so  anxious  to  get  that  he  has 
just  doubled  the  reward.  I  mentioned  it  to  Captain  Cartier, 
but  he  thought  I  was  mistaken,  because  Sarre  knew  him,  and, 
if  he  had  been  this  fellow  Landes,  he  would  have  turned  him 
over  to  Rigault  in  quick  time,  I  can  tell  you." 

Jeanne  crept  back  to  Madame  Cartier,  and  leaned  on  her 
shoulder.  "  How  did  this  American  look  ?  "  she  asked 
quietly. 

The  officer  described  Philip  so  perfectly  that  Jeanne  felt 
herself  turning  faint. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Mademoiselle  ?  "  he  explained,  "  that  is 
exactly  like  the  description  in  Raoul  Rigault's  notice.  Cap- 
tain Cartier  said  this  one  was  caught  trying  to  scale  a  wall  in 
the  Passage  Stanislas,  dressed  as  a  National  Guard,  and  Sarre 
gave  him  his  choice  of  joining  the  ranks  or  being  shot.  But 
Rigault  will  get  him  all  in  good  time " 

"  But  my  son  told  you,  did  he  not,  Monsieur,  that  it  was 
not  the  same  man  for  whom  the  reward  is  offered  ?  "  said 
Madame  Cartier,  indifferently,  and,  as  if  they  had  heard  all 
they  wished  to,  she  drew  Jeanne  away  to  the  parapet. 

'  You  love  Monsieur  Landes,"  she  whispered,  as  they  stood 
by  themselves.  "  Your  name  is  on  the  notice  of  arrest  with 
his.  Do  you  think  this  soldier  in  the  Turco  battalion  can  be 
he?  " 

'  I  know  it  is  he,"  said  Jeanne,  in  a  heart-sick  voice. 
At  noon  the  news  came  that  the  Turcos  were  routed,  that 
one  company  had  been  annihilated  in  Bas-Meudon  woods, 
and  the  remainder  were  being  pursued  by  the  ferocious 
Zouaves  of  Charette.  Jeanne  heard  it  at  the  gate  and 
stepped  out  into  the  road  beyond. 


2  20  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Weser's  Turcos  of  the  5th  company  were  passing,  and  she 
recognized  the  uniform  and  stopped  a  soldier  with  a  gesture. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Bas-Meudon." 

"Where  is  that?  " 

The  Turco  pointed  to  the  hill. 

"  Where  are  the  others  of  your  regiment  ?  " 

"  The  dead  are  in  the  woods  ;  the  rest  are  running  to  get 
out  of  the  woods,"  said  the  soldier,  grimly,  and  tramped 
away  into  the  city. 

Jeanne,  the  tears  rolling  down  her  pale  cheeks,  gazed  at  the 
distant  wooded  slope,  all  dotted  with  little  clouds  of  smoke. 
Tcherka  leaped  from  her  tired  arms  and  trotted  ahead  out 
into  the  country  road,  looking  back  at  her  mistress  to  see  if 
she  would  follow.  Tcherka  had  an  idea.  It  was  that  if  she 
might  wheedle  her  mistress  into  the  country  they  could  have 
a  much-needed  romp  together.  So  Tcherka  stood  in  the 
morning  sunlight,  her  magnificent  ej^es  glowing  like  twin 
emeralds,  looking  coquettishly  back  at  Jeanne,  who  stood 
white  and  silent  in  the  city  gate. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

Sarre  Pays  a  Debt 

When  the  Zouaves  of  Charette  emerged  from  Bas-Meudon 
woods  they  had  swept  the  underbrush  clean  of  all  living 
creatures.  Twice  the  Hussars  of  Death  turned  and  swooped 
through  their  flanks,  black  cloaks  in  ribbons,  sabres  dripping 
from  point  to  hilt,  but  the  Zouaves  drove  them  into  the 
ditches,  ripping  and  stabbing  horses  and  riders  with  their 
terrible  sabre-ba}'onets  ;  and,  at  last,  shouting  hoarsely,  the 
Hussars  of  Death  wheeled  into  flight  across  the  stubble  to 
the  open  country  beyond. 

Sarre's  Turcos  had  been  taken  by  the  flank,  and  the  blow 
fell  disastrously  where  Weser's  men  had  fled  and  Cartier's 
company  had  been  annihilated.  The  point  of  the  wedge  had 
entered  here,  and  both  wings  of  the  battalion  were  curling 
up  like  withering  leaves.  Sarre  raged,  shrieking  curses  on  his 
men,  driving  them  forward  at  the  point  of  his  revolver,  but 


SARRE    PAVS    A    DEBT  221 

the  Zouaves  sprang  in,  storming  like  fiends  among  the 
wavering  ranks,  hewing,  smashing,  slashing,  dragging  officers 
from  their  horses  and  bayoneting  them  without  mercy, 
seizing  battle  flags,  ripping  the  red  standard  of  the  Commune 
from  its  gilded  staff.  And  now  it  was  over.  What  remained 
of  the  1st  Battalion  of  Paris  Turcos  was  fighting  its  way  with 
the  fury  of  despair  toward  the  open  country.  Again  and 
again  the  Zouaves  hurled  themselves  on  the  little  square  with 
the  bayonet,  and  at  each  mad  struggle  the  group  of  Turcos 
dwindled,  but  the  Zouaves  left  as  many  dead  and  dying  among 
the  ditches  and  potato  hills  as  did  the  Turcos. 

Sarre,  still  mounted,  seemed  to  hold  the  little  band  around 
him  by  main  strength  of  will.  His  sabre,  all  smeared  with 
thick  blood  and  hair,  hovered  above  the  shock  of  encounter, 
menacing  the  enemy,  threatening  the  faint-hearted  among 
his  own  followers. 

There  were  perhaps  two  hundred  men  around  him  when 
they  reached  the  Clamart  route,  but  the  Zouaves  were  firing 
now  by  platoons,  and  the  Turcos  fell  like  leaves  in  a  storm, 
till  a  dip  in  the  road  and  a  long  ridge  gave  them  a  moment's 
shelter.  Sarre  glared  about  him  like  a  trapped  wolf.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  road  stood  a  solitary  stone  farm-house  set 
back  among  the  trees  of  an  orchard.  At  a  glance  he  saw  that 
here  he  must  stand  at  bay.  There  was  no  use  going  farther, 
although  they  were  within  sight  of  the  fortifications  of  Paris. 
Ten  minutes  more  of  the  Zouaves' fusillade  would  leave  abso- 
lutely nothing  of  his  command.  It  was  a  choice  of  dying  in 
the  open  road  or  of  dying  behind  the  stone  walls  of  a  house. 
Sarre  chose  the  latter,  not  because  he  had  the  faintest  hope  of 
help  from  Duval,  the  fort  of  Issy,  or  from  Paris,  but  because 
here  he  could  longer  stave  off  death  and  have  more  time  to 
kill  Zouaves.  With  a  deadly  glance  at  the  red  fezes  of  the 
Zouaves  which  began  to  bob  up  over  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  he 
led  his  men,  now  numbering  possibly  fifty,  into  the  orchard 
near  the  farm-house. 

"  A  man  to  every  tree  !  "  he  shouted  ;  "  ten  men  to  hold 
that  hedge  ;  six  men  behind  the  well-curb.  Is  there  a  captain 
here  ?  What  !  Have  they  peppered  all  my  captains  ?  Hey  ! 
You  there, — you  lieutenant,  d — n  you,  I  forget  your  name, — 
take  command  in  the  orchard  and  hold  out  !  Hold  out  ! 
You'd  better,  if  you  know  what's  good  for  you — the  Zou- 
Zous  don't  take  any  prisoners.     We've  got  to  hold  until  they 


222  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

send  from  Paris  and  get  us  out  of  this  frying-pan."  Then 
noticing  Philip  standing  silently  beside  McBarron  and  Con 
Daily,  he  walked  up  to  him  with  a  grin.  "  You  here  ?  "  he 
demanded  ;  "  well  !  well  !  You  have  no  luck  at  all.  It's 
very  funny  to  think  that  you  are  going  to  be  spitted  on  one 
of  your  own  bayonets.     They  give  no  quarter." 

Philip  turned  away  without  answering,  and  Sarre  walked 
over  to  the  shelter  of  the  well-curb,  for  the  shots  began  to 
patter  among  the  trees,  and  the  Turcos  down  by  the  hedge 
were  firing  frantically. 

"  Lie  down,"  said  McBarron,  "  lie  down,  both  of  you  !  " 
Daily,  instead  of  obeying,  coolly  brought  his  rifle  to  his 
cheek  and  dropped  a  distant  Zouave  in  his  tracks. 

"What  d'ye  think  av  that  !  "  he  shouted,  shoving  in 
another  cartridge. 

"  Lie  down,  Con  Daily,  you  fool  !  "  growled  McBarron, 
taking  long  aim  at  an  officer  of  Zouaves  and  knocking  him 
clean  over  with  a  bullet  through  the  face. 

"  Fool  !  "  yelled  Daily,  "  I'm  no  fool,  I'll  have  ye  know — 
whurroo  !  D'ye  mark  that,  McBarron  ?  "  as  his  rifle  spit 
flame  again  and  another  Zouave  sprang  into  the  air  and  fell, 
turning  and  twisting  over  the  ground. 

And  now  the  fire  grew  close  and  deadly.  From  behind 
every  tree,  every  hummock,  every  hedge-row,  the  Turcos 
poured  streams  of  bullets  into  the  charging  Zouaves.  The 
orchard  smoked  like  a  bonfire.  Three  times  the  Zouaves 
came  on,  up  to  the  very  hedge-rows,  but  they  could  not  stand 
the  deadly  storm.  The  trees  and  hedges  were  fringed  with 
flame,  and  death  swept  out  of  the  rolling  puffs  of  smoke, 
mowing  the  Zouaves  into  rows  and  heaps,  until  they  broke 
and  sought  cover  behind  the  ridge.  Far  away  across  the 
country  the  Hussars  of  Death  were  flitting  toward  Paris  ;  in 
the  west,  Issy  spurted  flame  and  smoke  ;  and  beyond,  in  the 
direction  of  Clamart,  a  great  battle  was  going  on,  for  the 
steady  crash  of  volley  firing  rose  above  the  thunder  of  the  forts. 
At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  Turcos,  reduced  to 
twenty  men,  were  still  holding  out,  but  they  were  beginning 
to  suffer  the  tortures  of  thirst.  Two  men,  shot  in  the  act  of 
lowering  the  bucket  to  draw  water,  had  fallen  into  the  well 
carrying  the  bucket  with  them.  One  of  them,  still  alive,  was 
clinging  to  some  cranny,  calling  piteously  for  help,  but  there 
was  no  rope  to  lower,  nor  if  there  had  been,  was  there  any 


SARRE    PAYS    A    DEBT  223 

time  to  lower  it,  for  the  Zouaves  swarmed  now  about  the 
orchard  like  angry  wasps,  just  outside  of  the  drifting  smoke 
and  rifle  flashes,  only  waiting  for  the  moment  to  break  in  and 
hack  the  life  from  the  last  living  Turco. 

Of  the  two  dozen  who  were  left,  four  held  the  hedge,  ten 
crouched  behind  the  trees,  and  three  or  four  lurked  about  the 
well-curb.  Sometimes  for  ten  minutes  not  a  shot  would  be 
fired  on  either  side  until  a  gleam  of  red  breeches,  a  twinkle  of 
white-gaitered  legs,  and  a  loud  cheer  would  bring  each  Turco 
to  his  feet  ;  and  then  such  a  cyclone  of  lead  would  sweep 
down  the  orchard  slope,  that  the  Zouaves  always  halted,  and 
deployed  in  open  order,  firing  instead  of  using  the  bayonet. 

Once,  however,  six  Zouaves  crept  up  under  cover  of  the 
smoke  and  started  cautiously  across  the  northern  angle  of  the 
orchard,  but  before  they  had  gone  ten  paces  they  stumbled 
over  McBarron,  Con  Daily,  Philip,  Sarre,  and  two  other 
Turcos,  who  had  left  the  trees  and  were  making  for  a  spring 
in  the  meadow  behind  the  house.  Sarre  clutched  a  Zouave 
by  his  blue  sash  and  cut  his  throat  before  he  could  scream. 
Con  Daily  knocked  another's  skull  in  with  the  butt  of  his 
rifle,  McBarron  bayoneted  two  more,  and  another  was  shot 
in  the  stomach  by  Sarre.  Philip  was  not  pressed;  so  he  did 
not  fire  until  the  last  Zouave  suddenly  sprang  on  him  with  an 
unearthly  yell  and  seized  him  by  the  hair.  Then  Philip 
caught  him  around  the  waist  and  bent  him  back  until  his 
muscles  cracked,  and  Sarre  deliberately  ran  him  through  the 
neck  with  his  sticky  sabre.  The  Zouave  fell  a  dead  weight 
in  Philip's  arms,  writhed  a  moment  on  the  young  grass,  then, 
as  Sarre  struck  him  savagely  over  the  temple  with  the  butt 
of  his  revolver,  he  quivered  and  died. 

"  Curse  them,  the  slinking  wolves  !  "  muttered  Sarre, 
glancing  toward  the  ridge  ;  "  we  haven't  time  to  get  to  the 
spring — no,  by  God  !   for  here  they  come  !     Look  out  !  " 

The  Zouaves  were  upon  the  hedge  before  Sarre  could  reach 
the  well-curb,  and  this  time  they  went  through  it,  beat  out  the 
brains  or  butchered  with  their  bayonets  every  Turco  behind 
it,  and  swept  on  toward  the  orchard.  Here,  however,  they 
were  met  with  a  scorching  fire,  and  they  fell  back  to  the 
shelter  of  the  hedge. 

Then  Sarre  led  his  fourteen  men  into  the  stone  house,  for 
he  knew  the  jig  was  up  and  they  could  only  die  like  rats  in 
their  corners,  fighting  to  the  last. 


224  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

The  house,  a  two-storied  building,  was  deserted.  McBarron, 
Daily,  and  Philip  were  posted  in  the  bedroom  which  com- 
manded the  orchard  and  well,  while  the  others  piled  chests, 
armoires,  and  beds  against  the  single  door,  and  stuffed  every 
window  with  pillows,  mattresses,  and  bedclothes.  Sarre 
nosed  about  for  something  to  drink,  but  found  nothing,  not 
even  a  drop  of  water. 

'  Here  !  "  he  cried,  "  we've  got  to  have  water — who  will 
volunteer  for  the  spring  ?  Here  are  three  buckets  ! — come 
now,  three  men  of  good  will  !  " 

"  I'll  go,"  said  McBarron,  quietly,  looking  down  over  the 
banisters. 

"  Good  !  "  growled  Sarre,  "  who  next  ?  " 

"  I  have  two  comrades  up  here, — they  will  go,"  replied 
McBarron  ;  "  send  up  three  men  to  watch  the  orchard  and 
we  can  drop  out  of  the  back  window." 

Sarre  nodded,  detailed  three  men  to  mount  the  stairs  to 
hold  the  bedroom  window,  and  sent  the  buckets  up  by  them. 
McBarron  handed  Philip  and  Daily  each  a  bucket,  slung  his 
rifle  across  his  shoulders,  stepped  to  the  rear  window,  and 
opened  it.  Then  he  quietly  dropped  to  the  ledge,  rested  his 
feet  on  the  shutter  below,  and  sprang  lightly  into  the  kitchen 
garden.  Daily  and  Philip  followed  him,  and  in  a  moment 
they  were  creeping  through  the  overgrown  gully  which  had 
been  used  as  a  drain,  toward  the  little  spring  in  the  meadow 
below.  The  drain  led  to  a  deep  ditch  which  wound  through 
the  meadow  and  received  the  tiny  stream  of  water  from  the 
spring.  In  single  file,  bent  nearly  double,  they  crept  along 
until  they  came  to  a  rivulet  which  flowed  into  the  drain  from 
the  spring  above. 

"  This  will  do, — we  can't  crawl  over  to  the  spring,  that's 
certain,"  said  McBarron,  and  tipped  the  edge  of  his  pail  under 
the  rivulet.  Daily  and  Philip  drank  their  fill  and  when 
McBarron's  bucket  was  full  they  shoved  theirs  under  the 
little  stream  of  water,  while  McBarron  peered  through  the 
weeds  and  dried  brush-heaps  toward  the  orchard. 

"  They  are  keeping  very  quiet,"  he  said. 

Daily  picked  up  his  pail  which  was  full  and  started  toward 
the  house. 

"  Wait  for  me!  "  said  Philip,  who  had  just  placed  his  pail 
under  the  stream  of  water. 

"  No,  Con  Daily  and  I  had  better  go  back  and  get  these 


SARRE    PAYS    A    DEBT  225 

buckets  hoisted  up  safe  while  we  can.     You  can't  tell, — 
waiting  for  you  might  delay  us  a  second  too  long.     They're 

keeping  so  d n  quiet  in  the  orchard  that  there  must  be 

something  up." 

'  Then  am  I  to  follow  you  as  soon  as  I  get  this  filled,  or 
shall  I  wait  until  you  come  back  for  more  ?  " 

'  We've  wather  enough  !  "  said  Daily,  "  come  when  ye're 
tin's  full, — we'll  pull  ye  up,  me  cherub  b'y." 

Philip  sat  down  while  his  pail  was  filling  and  watched  his 
two  comrades  creeping  through  the  drain.  When  they 
reached  the  kitchen  garden  they  crossed  it  to  the  house  and 
looked  up  at  the  window.  Presently  a  Turco's  head  was 
thrust  out,  and  in  a  moment  more  Daily  had  climbed  to 
McBarron's  shoulders  and  was  lifting  his  pail  to  the  man  at 
the  window.  Then  a  rifle  cracked,  and  a  puff  of  smoke  shot 
from  a  tuft  of  dead  weed-stalks  in  the  open  meadow. 
McBarron  reeled  and  fell  against  the  stone  side  of  the  house 
and  Daily  tumbled  to  the  ground,  his  bucket  of  water  splash- 
ing all  over  him.  In  a  second  the  Turco  at  the  window 
whipped  his  piece  to  his  shoulder  and  fired,  and  an  answering 
bullet  sped  from  the  tuft  of  weeds.  McBarron  threw  up  his 
hands  and  stumbled  forward  on  his  face.  Daily  was  on  his 
feet  like  a  cat,  and,  unslinging  his  rifle,  blazed  away  at  the 
hidden  sharpshooter,  but  again  the  tongue  of  flame  leaped 
from  the  weed-cover,  and  Con  Daily  whirled  around  on  his 
heels  and  pitched  headlong  into  the  ditch. 

The  water  in  Philip's  bucket  was  running  over,  now  but  he 
didn't  see  it.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  that  tuft  of  weeds. 
After  a  moment  he  saw  a  Zouave  cautiously  rise  to  his  knees 
and  creep  up  toward  the  house.  Then  other  figures  bobbed 
up  all  over  the  meadow  ;  every  hillock,  every  ditch,  held  its 
man  ;  and  now  the  orchard,  the  hedge-rows,  the  fields  were 
swarming  with  red-legged  Zouaves,  all  moving  silently  and 
swiftly  on  the  stone  house.  The  farm  was  completely 
surrounded,  and  Philip  saw  that  he  was  already  far  in  the 
rear  of  the  advancing  Zouaves. 

The  first  thought  that  came  to  him  was  that  he  must 
return  and  share  the  fortune  of  his  battalion.  This  was  mere 
instinct,  and  the  next  moment  he  knew  that  he  owed  nothing 
to  his  battalion,  and  his  debt  to  his  Colonel  could  only  be  paid 
in  bullets.  But,  although  he  felt  that  now  at  last  he  was  out 
of  the  clutches  of  the  Commune,  his  sympathies,  strangely 


226  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

enough,  were  with  the  little  garrison  in  that  stone  house  ;  for 
they  had  been  his  companions  in  danger,  and  now  they  were 
about  to  die.  He  did  not  think  of  escape  for  the  moment,  nor 
yet  of  his  own  personal  safety.  He  crouched  in  the  ditch 
watching  those  closing  lines  of  scarlet.  Would  the  Zouaves 
take  the  house  by  storm  ?  Ah  ?  he  understood  now,  for 
the  red  lines  had  halted  and  a  section  of  a  light  battery  trotted 
across  the  meadow  toward  a  ridge  half  sheltered  by  the 
orchard.  An  officer  who  sat  his  horse  beautifully  was 
directing  the  two  guns,  and  his  indifference  to  the  frenzied 
volleys  from  the  windows  of  the  farm  nearly  cost  him  his  life, 
for  his  horse  sank  under  him  and  he  was  pulled  to  his  feet  by 
a  Zouave,  who  himself  fell  a  second  later.  But  now  the  guns 
were  in  position  and  the  signal  was  given. 

"  No.  i,  fire  !  "     Bang  ! 

"  No.  2,  fire  !  "     Bang  !     Crash  I 

The  house,  for  a  moment  enveloped  in  dust,  tottered,  then 
simply  crumbled  to  the  ground,  and  a  dozen  Turcos  tumbled 
out  like  rats  from  a  sack.  But  the  Zouaves  were  upon  them 
and  they  died  hard,  fighting  to  the  end.  Philip  saw  Sarre 
strike  down  three  Zouaves,  then  stagger  about  as  though 
dazed,  until  a  sabre-bayonet  pinned  him  to  the  earth.  And 
that  was  the  end  ;  for  the  ist  Paris  Turcos  had  been,  with 
the  exception  of  Weser's  fifth  company,  and  possibly  fifty 
stragglers  from  Bas-Meudon  woods,  absolutely  wiped  off  the 
face  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER    XX 

The  White  Road 

Philip's  pail  was  running  over  and  the  cool  water  soaked  his 
shoes.  Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  dropped  to  his 
knees,  thrust  his  face  into  the  bucket,  drank  long  and  deep, 
then  bathed  his  hot  face  and  neck.  Then  he  laid  his  rifle 
and  bayonet  beside  the  pail,  rose  to  his  feet,  bending  low, 
and  started  to  follow  the  ditch  across  the  fields  to  where  the 
Paris  military  road  wound  like  a  white  ribbon  in  the  distance. 
He  intended  to  get  back  to  the  city  because  the  Versaillists, 
under  Thiers,  had  started  to  out-Nero  Nero  ;  and,  although 
he  had  recognized  in  the  officer  who  commanded  the  battery 


THE    WHITE    ROAD  22 J 

section  Alain  de  Carette,  the  ferocious  butchery  by  the 
Zouaves  had  sickened  him,  and  he  almost  hated  the  Versailles 
troops  as  much  as  he  did  the  Federals.  To  run  to  Alain  in 
his  uniform  of  a  Turco  and  cry,  "  I  am  innocent,"  might 
possibly  be  practicable,  but  if  he  should  happen  to  meet  a 
Zouave  on  the  way,  Philip  knew  that  killing  would  come  first 
and  questions  afterwards.  And  now  Alain  de  Carette  had 
ridden  away  with  his  guns,  and  the  Zouaves  were  leaving  a 
guard  about  the  house,  while  the  main  body  had  already 
moved  out  toward  the  Clamart  road,  where,  above  the  trees, 
the  smoke  rolled  up  from  Clamart  village,  and  the  distant 
bellow  of  cannon  told  a  tale  of  fierce  and  stubborn  fighting. 

The  ditch  grew  deeper  and  broader  as  it  approached  the 
Paris  route.  Philip  followed  it  slowly,  for  the  drain  was  full 
of  briers  and  puddles  of  water.  Three  times  he  was  obliged 
to  creep  on  his  stomach  through  long  stone  culverts  partially 
choked  with  weeds.  Once,  on  emerging  from  a  culvert,  he 
had  to  crawl  over  an  obstruction  which  proved  to  be  a  corpse. 
The  dead  man  lay  face  downwards  in  the  mud,  and  as  Philip 
stumbled  on,  shuddering,  sleek  brown  river  rats  scuttled 
away  through  the  undergrowth  on  either  side. 

When  at  last  he  reached  the  culvert  that  tunnelled  the 
Paris  route,  he  ventured  to  raise  his  head  above  the  edge  of 
the  ditch  and  look  back  across  the  plain.  Two  miles  away 
the  ruins  of  the  stone  farm-house  lay  white  in  the  sunshine 
beside  the  orchard,  and  far  beyond,  the  smoke  of  the  battle 
hung  like  a  huge  mushroom  over  the  trees  which  hid  Clamart 
village.  On  the  slopes  of  Bas-Meudon  he  could  see  the  sparkle 
of  sunlight  on  bayonets,  but,  except  for  that,  and  a  single 
dark  square  patch  on  the  hillside  which  he  knew  to  be  troops 
in  motion,  the  immediate  vicinity  appeared  to  be  safe  enough. 
He  supposed  that  the  ditch  ran  down  to  the  Seine  not  far 
beyond  the  Paris  route,  so  he  crouched  again,  wriggled 
through  the  culvert,  and  started  on.  The  river  was  nearer 
than  he  had  thought  it  could  be,  for  ten  minutes  more 
brought  him  to  the  muddy  bank.  But,  before  he  had  time  to 
pull  himself  out  of  the  mud  and  climb  to  the  field  above,  a 
voice  hailed  him  harshly,  and  a  gaunt  creature  sprang  upon 
him,  crying  :  "  Halt  !  halt  !  "  He  looked  up.  A  Hussar  of 
Death  was  covering  him  with  a  revolver.  He  was  safe  at 
last  !  To  his  tired  hot  eyes  the  man  clothed  in  his  fantastic 
uniform  seemed  an  angel  of  mercy.     The  Hussar  of  Death 


228  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

eyed  him  for  an  instant,  slowly  lowered  his  revolver,  and 
burst  into  a  horrible  silent  laugh.  Philip  crept  out  of  the 
ditch  and  stumbled  to  his  feet  beside  the  trooper. 

"  I  am  the  last  of  the  battalion,"  he  said,  wearily, — "  the 
Colonel  and  the  rest  lie  yonder.     Can  I  get  across  the  river  ?  " 

The  hussar  turned  and  pointed  through  the  trees  to  a 
pontoon  bridge  below  them.  "  There  is  time,"  he  croaked, 
and  Philip  hurried  on. 

When  he  reached  the  bridge,  a  company  of  Federals  were 
beginning  to  dismantle  it,  but  they  drew  aside  to  let  him  pass, 
and  in  a  few  moments  he  had  reached  the  other  bank,  and 
stood  safe  and  sound,  but  tired  and  feverish  and  terribly 
footsore.  He  saw  a  group  of  houses,  red-roofed  and  stucco- 
walled,  on  the  bank  above,  and  when  he  had  climbed  up  to 
them  he  found  himself  in  a  tiny  village.  The  village  was 
occupied  by  Federal  infantry,  and  the  single  street  was  full 
of  officers,  who  stared  at  him  very  hard  as  he  passed.  One 
of  the  houses  seemed  to  be  the  headquarters  of  some  general, 
for  aides  were  passing  in  and  out,  sentinels  patrolled  the 
garden,  and  the  horses  of  an  escort  stood  patiently  in  the 
shade  of  a  budding  chestnut  tree  by  the  garden  wall. 

As  he  passed  the  gate  a  trooper  ran  up  behind  him  and 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  The  General  wants  to  see 
you,  comrade,"  he  said. 

"What  General?  "  said  Philip,  nervously. 

"  General  Dombrowski." 

"  What  for  ?  "  demanded  Philip. 

"  Now,  I  don't  know — how  should  I  ?  He  heard  that  a 
Turco  had  come  in  and  Colonel  Wilton  sent  me  to  find  you." 

At  the  name  of  Wilton,  Philip  turned  away  sharply. 

"  You'd  better  come,"  suggested  the  soldier,  fingering  his 
rifle.  A  group  of  soldiers  and  officers  had  formed  around 
them  and  Philip  saw  that  he  could  not  hesitate  any  longer  ; 
but,  as  he  made  a  motion  to  follow  the  soldier,  the  group 
parted  and  a  gray-haired  officer  who  held  himself  very  erect 
stepped  into  the  circle,  followed  by  a  file  of  brilliantly 
uniformed  aides-de-camp.     It  was  General  Dombrowski. 

"  Are  you  from  Colonel  Sarre's  battalion  ?  '  he  asked 
pleasantly. 

Philip  saluted  respectfully.     "  I  am,  mon  General." 

"  Where  is  Colonel  Sarre  ?  " 

"  Dead,  General." 


THE    WHITE    ROAD  229 

"  When  ? 

"  An  hour  ago." 

"  And  the  battalion  ?  " 

"  Exterminated." 

"  In  Meudon  ?  " 

'  Partly  in  Bas-Meudon  woods,  partly  while  retreating. 
We  held  the  stone  farm  and  the  orchard  on  the  Clamart  route 
until  they  brought  cannon.  We  left  Ba.s-Meudon  woods 
with  two  hundred  men  ;  we  reached  the  farm  with  fifty. 
They  are  all  dead." 

"All  ?  " 

"  All — except  Captain  Weser's  men." 

General  Dombrowski  stood  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a 
moment,  then  his  short  military  figure  straightened  up  and 
he  looked  kindly  at  Philip. 

"  How  did  you  escape,  mon  enfant  ? 

Philip  told  him  very  simply. 

"  And  you  say  that  it  was  the  Zouaves  who  did  this 
shocking  business  ?  " 

"The  Zouaves  of  Charette." 

Angry  murmurs  began  to  rise  from  the  crowd  around 
them  :  "  The  butchers  !  So  Thiers  gives  no  quarter  !  We 
will  remember  the  Zouaves  of  Charette  !  " 

At  a  signal  from  Dombrowski  an  officer  summoned  the 
escort — a  troop  of  Polish  cavalry, — and  a  moment  later  the 
General's  horse  and  the  horses  of  the  staff  were  brought  out, 
girths  tightened,  and  the  order  given  to  mount.  The  crowd 
parted,  the  cavalcade  trotted  away  toward  the  river  bank, 
and  Philip  started  on  trudging  wearily  to  Paris.  As  he 
passed  into  the  village  street,  a  woman  dressed  in  the  regi- 
mental uniform  of  a  Vivandiere  stepped  to  his  side. 

"  Citizen,"  she  said,  "  you  need  food  and  drink." 

Philip  turned  slowly  and  looked  her  in  the  face.  It  was 
Faustine  Courtois.  Her  face  was  expressionless,  but  her  eyes 
were  soft  and  pitiful.  Very  gently  she  slipped  a  loaf  of 
bread,  a  piece  of  beef,  and  a  bottle  of  red  wine  into  his  empty 
haversack,  still  walking  along  beside  him. 

"  Comrade,  you've  caught  our  pretty  Vivandiere  !  "  cried 
a  soldier,  laughing.  Philip  turned  instantly  to  Faustine  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  citoyenne,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  God  bless  you,  comrade  !  "  she  murmured  ;   then  with  a 


230  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

quick   military  salute   she  stood  still,    and   he  walked   on 
alone. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  threw  himself  down  beside  the  white 
military  road  and  emptied  his  haversack  on  the  grass.     A 
clear  stream  gurgled  under  a  little  stone  bridge  that  spanned 
the  road  below  him.     He  washed  the  grime  from  his  face  and 
hands  and  fell  to.     He  had  not  eaten  since  that  hasty  gammel 
of  soup  on  the  fortifications  before  daylight  and,  tired  as  he 
was,  he  devoured  his  bread  and  meat,  and  drank  his  red  wine 
with  a  keen  relish.     Then  he  lay  back  against  the  trunk  of  a 
chestnut  tree  and  looked  across  to  where  the  walls  of  Paris 
were  in  plain  view.     He  was  not  sleepy,  but  repose  was 
delicious.     Before  him  the  road  wound  away  toward  the 
city,  passing  by  two  hamlets  nestling  among  groves  of  syca- 
more and  chestnut,  then  curved  out  by  the  Point-du-Jour 
through  earthworks  and  rows  of  tents  until  it  entered  the 
city  gate  under  the  granite  fortifications.     As  far  as  he  could 
see,  the  white  road  was  deserted,  except  by  two  quarrelling 
magpies.     The  magpies  were  disputing  noisily.     They  hopped 
and  bounded  and  flittered  here  and  there,  flirting  their  black 
and  white  wings  viciously,  cocking  their  impudent  bright 
eyes,    and  piling  insult   upon  insult,   until   Philip,   deadly 
weary  of  noise  and  fighting,  closed  his  eyes,  hoping  they  would 
carry  their  war  into  another  region.     A  few  moments  later  he 
opened  his  eyes  to  see  if  they  were  gone.     Both  birds  were 
still  in  the  road,  but  they  had  become  strangely  silent.     He 
soon    discovered    the    cause    of    this.     A    common    danger 
threatened  them.     A  large  cat,  belly  flattened  to  the  ground, 
was  stalking  the  birds.     They  saw  her.     She  crept  nearer  and 
nearer,  eyes  glowing,  body  flat  as  a  serpent's  ;  then  gathering 
herself  together  she  crouched,  trembling,  for  the  final  spring. 
At  that  moment  both  birds  burst  into  screams  of  mockery 
and  derision  and  flitted  away  over  the  fields  toward  a  distant 
dead  tree.     Slowly  the  cat  turned  her  head,  watching  them 
until  they  disappeared  across  the  meadow,  then  she  crept  up 
to  where  they  had  sat  in  the  road,  sniffed  about,  and  finally 
rose  with  a  disgusted  jerk  of  her  tail.     A  moment  later  she 
turned  like  a  flash,  for  Philip  had  sprung  to  his  feet  and  stood 
staring  at  her,  rubbing  his  eyes  violently.     At  that  instant  a 
solitary  figure  came  into  view  around  the  curve  in  the  road, — 
a  woman  who  walked  slowly  and  listlessly  with  bared  head 
bent. 


COMMISSIONS    FOR    TWO  2JI 

"  Tcherka  !  "  cried  Philip. 

The  cat  trotted  toward  him,  hoisting  a  gorgeous  crimson 
tail  and  making  pleased  observations  rapidly.  The  woman 
started  and  raised  her  head  with  a  gesture  of  terror,  but  when 
he  jumped  down  the  bank  and  sprang  toward  her  she  threw 
out  her  hands,  with  a  soft  cry,  and  in  a  moment  more  his 
arms  were  around  her  and  her  face  lay  against  his. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

Commissions  for  Two 

The  sun  was  sinking  into  the  battle  smoke  beyond  Clamart 
village.  High  in  the  zenith  the  new  moon  hung,  a  faint 
crescent  in  the  rosy,  evening  sky.  The  rumble  of  war  had 
died  away  in  the  west,  but  still  from  the  south  deep  muffled 
intonations  were  borne  on  the  spring  winds,  and  strangely- 
shaped  battle  clouds  climbed  above  the  horizon.  The 
country  around  was  quiet  and  peaceful ;  the  solemn  notes  of 
the  cannon  grew  less  and  less  frequent,  and  the  awful  voice 
of  Mont-Valerien  was  stilled. 

Jeanne  de  Brassac,  smiling  and  happy,  sat  under  a  tree  in 
the  meadow  above  the  Paris  road.  Philip  lay  at  her  feet,  his 
chin  on  his  hands,  his  scarlet  fez  pushed  back  on  his  forehead. 
Tcherka  was  hunting  field-mice.  If  her  success  had  been  in 
proportion  to  her  enthusiasm,  the  field-mouse  would  have 
become  extinct  in  France.  From  an  oak  tree  near  by  two 
magpies  jeered  at  her  efforts  until  a  small  hedge-sparrow 
aroused  their  ire  and  they  disappeared  in  headlong  chase. 

Philip  and  Jeanne  had  not  said  much  after  their  meeting. 
The  swift  clasp  and  clinging  caress  left  one  of  them  happy 
and  thoughtful,  and  the  other  dazed.  It  had  happened  so 
suddenly, — neither  was  conscious  of  anything  except  that 
heart-sick  terror  was  gone  and  a  dear  face  was  there,  un- 
changed. Very  sweetly  she  clung  to  him,  now  quiet  and 
hopeful,  with  his  strong  arm  clasping  her  waist,  and  his 
firm,  young  hand  holding  both  of  hers.  That  she  herself  was 
safe  now  did  not  occur  to  her  at  first.  She  only  thought, 
'  Philip  is  alive, — Philip  is  unhurt,  here  by  my  side."  Of 
course,  she  was  safe  enough  now.  Was  not  Philip  there  ? 
9 


232  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Did  anything  ever  stand  against  Philip  ?  A  moment  before, 
she  had  been  walking  on  the  white  military  road,  alone, 
penniless,  not  knowing,  nor,  for  that  matter,  thinking,  where 
she  might  lay  her  head  at  night  ;  it  was  the  load  of  deadly 
foreboding  for  Philip  which  weighted  her  young  breast  and 
bowed  her  head  until  her  mind  grew  numb  with  hopeless 
misery.  Her  future  seemed  one  long  vista,  dull  and  blank 
and  full  of  sorrow.  A  second  had  changed  all  that, — the 
sound  of  a  voice,  a  swift  step,  a  strong  arm  about  her, — ah, 
yes,  one  glance  into  the  dear  eyes  ! — and  sorrow  and  trouble 
had  vanished  like  broken  bubbles. 

They  had  told  each  other  their  little  tales  of  danger  and 
mischance,  but  already,  in  her  presence,  the  dangers  which  lay 
behind  him  seemed  so  far  away  and  so  insignificant  that  his 
story  was  finished  in  a  dozen  words.  Hers  he  listened  to 
silently,  touched  to  the  quick  by  her  low  voice. 

"  But  Jeanne,  how  came  you  to  be  in  the  garden  at  that 
hour  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  sleep  ;  " — after  a  pause  she  added,  "  because 
of  you." 

Philip  lay  perfectly  still,  his  chin  on  his  hands,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  hers.  She  met  his  gaze  with  one,  clear  and  serene, 
yet  very  sweet  and  wistful.  He  came  and  knelt  at  her  feet. 
She  placed  her  white  hands  on  his  shoulders,  innocently, 
tenderly.  How  deep  her  violet  eyes  were  above  her  white 
cheeks  !  He  bit  his  lip  and  trembled  with  the  agony  of 
silence,  but  he  would  not  speak.  Oh,  he  had  fought  the 
battle  with  himself  again  and  again.  He  knew — he  never 
tried  to  disguise  from  himself — that  to  speak  to  her  of  love 
while  she  was  helplessly  dependent  on  his  protection  would 
be  dishonourable.  And  his  love,  passionate,  almost  fierce  as 
it  was  at  times  from  restraint,  had  never  yet  mastered  his  will. 
But  her  innocent  tenderness,  her  open,  fond  affection, 
together  with  the  joy  of  finding  her,  were  straining  his 
powers  of  self-control  to  their  utmost. 

"  Marguerite,"  she  began  again  in  her  low,  thrilling  voice, 
still  keeping  her  hands  on  Philip's  shoulders,  "  Marguerite 
thinks  I  am  nothing  but  a  child — and  perhaps  she  is  right. 
But  I  did  not  feel  hke  a  child  when  I  was  weeping  for  you 
last  night  in  our  garden, — and  I  said  then  that  if  God  would 
let  me  see  you  once  more  I  would  tell  you  that — oh,  Philip  ! 
— there  is  no  one  in  all  the  world  whom  I  love  as  I  do  you." 


COMMISSIONS    FOR    TWO  233 

He  bent  his  head, — a  single  bright  drop  of  blood  fell  from 
his  lips  on  the  grass.     He  strove  after  the  right,  safe  words 
to  answer.     She  took  her  hands  from  his  shoulders.     He 
looked  up  and  saw  her  drawing  back,  bewildered,  dismayed 
at  his  silence,  and  he  cried  out  :   "  Jeanne  !  don't  you  under- 
stand ! — I  always  loved  you — always  ! — from  the  moment, 
on  that  Christmas  eve,  when  I  first  saw  you,  a  mere  child  ; 
from  that  moment  your  face  has  haunted  me — your  voice, 
your  eyes,  your  hair,  your  hands  ; — I  love  you  so  much  and 
so  truly  that  I  have  tried  to  be  silent.     Oh,  Jeanne, — I  have 
tried  !     I  did  not  mean  to  take  advantage  of  my  guardian- 
ship— I  never  meant  to  violate  that  trust ;   and  now  I  have 
failed  ;  whether  because  I  loved  you  too  much,  or  too  little, 
I  do  not  know — but  this  I  know,  that  your  affection  for  me 
is  returned  as  purely,  as  innocently  as  it  is  given.     And 
some  day,  if  God  is  merciful  and  keeps  you  safe,  I  shall  come 
to  you,  among  your  own  people,  and  offer  you  myself,  my 
life,  all  I  am  or  hope  to  be  ; — you  will  listen  then,  Jeanne  ?  " 
Almost  humbly  she  answered,  recognizing  and  worshipping 
the  ardour,  the  vital  force  which  she  did  not  }'et  understand  : 
"  You  must  teach  me  how  to  listen,  Philip." 
He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  trembling. 
"  I  will  teach  you, — Jeanne — and — and  I  will  wait  !  ' 
They  stood  up  together,  a  little  dazed,  as  Tcherka  came 
trotting  up. 

"  Here's  Tcherka,  blessed  cat  !  "  said  Philip,  smiling  with 
an  effort. 

Jeanne  mechanically  stooped  to  caress  her. 
"  Jeanne,"  said  Philip,  mischievously,  "  say  Toodles  !  ' 
"  Too-dells,  Monsieur  !  "  cried  Jeanne,  indignantly.     "  But 
I  should  like  to  know,  if  you  please,  where  you  are  going  to 
take  me.     Do  you  see  it  is  almost  dark  ? — and  the   gates  at 
the  Point-du-Jour  will  be  closed." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  answered,  with  a  secret  thrill 
in  her  perfect  trust,  "  that  perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  we  can't 
get  into  Paris  just  yet,  until  we  hear  the  result  of  the  battle. 
And  I  don't  like  to  take  you  back  to  the  little  village  ;  it's 
full  of  Federals.  I  see  the  roof  of  a  farm-house  a  few  steps 
beyond  the  curve  of  the  road  there.  You  must  have  passed 
it  in  coming." 

"  I  did  ;  a  young  man  came  to  the  hedge  and  called  after 
me  as  I  passed.     I  did  not  understand  what  he  said,  and  I 


234  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

kept  on  without  replying.     Shall  we  go  and  see  if  we  can  get 
shelter  there  ?     I  am  very  hungry." 
'  Yes,  we'll  try  it.     Hungry  ?  " 
Yes  ;    I  have  not  eaten  since  early  this  morning  on  the 
fortifications.     Madame  Carrier,  your  poor  captain's  mother, 
gave  me  some  breakfast." 

"  What,  Jeanne  ?  " 

'Not  much,"  she  admitted;  "a  glass  of  wine, — some 
bread.     She  had  to  force  me  to  eat  it.     She  was  very  good 

to  me " 

'  And  you've  eaten  nothing  since  that,  and  now  it  is 
almost  night  I  " 

Making  her  sit  down  again  he  pulled  the  provisions  from 
his  haversack,  constructed  a  sandwich  from  the  bread  and 
beef,  opened  the  bottle,  and  handed  her  a  tin  cup.  With  a 
gay  laugh  she  bit  a  piece  as  best  she  could  out  of  the  sand- 
wich, and  soon  held  up  the  cup  to  be  filled.  The  wine  ran 
out.  '  Why,  Philip,  there  is  a  hole  in  the  cup  ! — it's  a 
bullet  hole,"  she  added  quietly. 

"  Oh,  yes — I  forgot — well — you'll  have  to  drink  out  of  the 
bottle  then.  I'll  hold  it."  She  put  up  her  pretty  mouth, 
and  he  tipped  the  bottle,  as  he  thought,  with  great  dexterity, 
until  she  waved  the  sandwich  for  him  to  take  it  away  again. 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  she  gasped,  "what  a  perfectly  untidy 
person  I  shall  be  !     Look  where  the  wine  has  dripped  !  " 

'  Look  at  my  uniform  ! — you  need  not  feel  embarrassed  !  " 

'My  handkerchief  is  all  wine — lend  me  yours,"  she 
implored. 

'  I  wish  I  had  one,"  he  said  pathetically  ;  "  will  this  do  ?  " 
and  he  cut  off  a  piece  of  his  red  sash.  She  took  it  laughingly, 
and  begged  him  to  give  Tcherka  some  more  meat. 

"  She  shall  have  woodcock  on  toast  some  day,"  said 
Philip.     "  Didn't  she  bring  you  to  me  ?  " 

"  The  darling  !  "  cried  Jeanne  ;  "  cut  the  meat  up  fine, 
Philip." 

When  Tcherka  had  finished,  Philip  picked  her  up  and  they 
descended  the  bank  to  the  wood,  and  walked  toward  the  red- 
roofed  farm-house  which  stood  j  ust  beyond  the  curve.  When 
they  reached  the  gate  and  entered  the  gravel  path  that  led  to 
the  door,  a  young  man  came  out,  carrying  a  lantern  and  a 
set  of  harness.  He  looked  sharply  at  them,  raising  the 
lantern  above  his  head. 


COMMISSIONS    FOR    TWO  235 

"  Good-evening,  citizen,"  said  Philip  ;  "  can  we  get  a 
bowl  of  soup  and  shelter  here  for  to-night  ?  " 

"  Can  you  pay  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

Philip  was  silent.     He  hadn't  a  sou. 

"  I  have  a  watch,"  whispered  Jeanne. 

Philip  nodded.     "  Yes,  we  can  pay,  citizen,"  he  said. 

The  man  hesitated.  "  I  shall  have  two  officers  here  to 
dinner,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  ;  "  I  can  get  you  a  bowl  of 
soup  before  they  come." 

'  All  right — we  won't  keep  them  from  the  table,"  replied 
Philip. 

The  man  pointed  to  the  door.  "  The  table  is  there.  I 
must  harness  my  horse  first.  Go  in."  He  turned  away 
toward  the  stable,  and  Philip  and  Jeanne  walked  into  the 
cottage.  In  the  room  on  the  ground  floor  a  table  stood  by 
the  fireplace.  Philip  drew  two  chairs  beside  it  and  they  sat 
down  to  wait.  In  a  few  minutes  the  man  reappeared  outside, 
leading  a  horse  attached  to  a  dog-cart.  He  set  down  his 
lantern,  hitched  the  horse  to  the  hedge  in  the  garden,  and 
then  entered  the  cottage. 

'  I  hope  we  do  not  inconvenience  you  too  much,  Monsieur," 
said  Jeanne,  politely. 

She  had  made  a  bad  mistake.  Philip  saw  it  instantly. 
'''  Monsieur  "  was  obsolete  in  the  Commune's  vocabulary  ; 
"  citizen  "  was  the  shibboleth. 

The  man  turned  slowly  toward  her  ;  his  narrow  eyes 
glittered. 

"  No,  Madame,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  inconvenience 
me." 

The  soup,  in  two  earthen  bowls,  was  hot  and  nourishing. 
It  was  what  they  both  needed.  The  man  sat  down  beside 
Philip  and  glanced  over  his  uniform. 

'  You  are  one  of  Colonel  Sarre's  Turcos,  citizen  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  citizen." 

"  You  were  peppered  ?  " 

"  Passably  well  peppered." 

"  They  say  Flourens  is  killed." 

"  He's  not  the  only  one  then." 

'  No,  no,  not  the  only  one,"  said  the  man,  stealing  a  glance 
at  Jeanne.     Philip  watched  him  without  seeming  to  do  so. 

'  They  say  Dombrowski  is  at  the  village  yonder,"  said  the 
man  again. 


236  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Yes,   I  have  the  honour  of  accompanying  the  citizen 
General,"  replied  Philip. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  man,  more  respectfully,  "  are  you  the 
Turco  he  has  as  ordonnance  ?  " 

'  Yes,"  said  Philip,  lying  deliberately.  The  man  cast 
another  swift  glance  at  Jeanne,  and  then  rose  and  beckoned 
Philip  to  follow. 

"  Here,  citizen,"  said  the  man,  as  they  entered  the  small 
room  beyond,  which  was  filled  with  farming  implements  and 
garden  tools,  "just  oblige  me  by  reading  that,"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  new  placard  pasted  on  the  bare  wall. 

It  was  the  placard  offering  a  reward  for  "  les  nommes 
Landes  and  Ellice,"  and  for  the  "  Citoyennes  de  Brassac  and 
de  St.  Brieuc."  The  man  pointed  eagerly  to  the  description 
of  Jeanne.     His  narrow  eyes  sparkled. 

'  The  powder  has  almost  blinded  me,  citizen, — read  it 
aloud,"  said  Philip.  As  the  man  stepped  forward  and  began 
to  read  in  a  low  voice,  Philip  picked  up  a  wooden  mallet  from 
the  bench  behind  him  and  quietly  examined  the  head.  The 
man  finished  and  turned  to  him  eagerly. 

"  Five  thousand  francs  reward  for  the  woman,"  he 
whispered. 

"  But  where  is  she  ?  "  demanded  Philip. 

"  In  there  !     Don't  you  see  it  is  the  same?     I  saw  her 

coming  along  the  road  two  hours   ago,   and   I   thought  it 

might  be  she,  but  when  I  went  to  find  her  she  was  gone. 

I  sent  my  boy  to  notify  the  village  yonder  to  watch  out." 

'  But — but  you  wouldn't  betray  this  poor  woman " 

"  Bah  !  She's  an  aristocrat.  And  to  think  you  didn't 
know  what  sort  of  hussy  you  had  picked  up  for  a  night's 
frolic  !  Half  the  reward  is  mine,  comrade, — I  only  claim 
half — oh  ! — oh  !    mon  Dieu  !  " — 

Twice  Philip  swung  his  mallet  on  the  man's  skull,  and  now 
he  lay  beside  the  rakes  and  shovels  on  the  damp  floor  of  the 
tool-room.  At  the  same  moment  there  came  heavy  steps  and 
the  banging  of  a  sabre  from  the  courtyard  outside.  With 
one  searching  look  at  the  prostrate  man's  face,  Philip  shut 
the  door,  locked  it,  and  dropping  the  key  into  his  pocket 
entered  the  dining-room.  An  officer  stood,  cap  in  hand, 
bowing  very  politely  to  Jeanne  ;  when  Philip  entered  he 
glanced  at  his  uniform  and  drew  himself  up  a  little  to  receive 
the  expected  salute.     The  Turco  did  not  salute  in  the  fashion 


COMMISSIONS    FOR    TWO  237 

expected  ;  instead  of  that  he  sprang  toward  the  officer  and 
seized  both  his  hands.  "  Archie  Wilton  !  you're  a  God-send 
to  me  !  " 

"  Landes  !    Philip  Landes  !  "  cried  Wilton. 

"  Come  here."  Philip  pulled  him  into  the  hallway, 
opened  the  tool-room,  and  showed  him  the  man  on  the  floor. 
"  I  don't  think  I've  killed  him,  but  I  had  to  stop  his  mouth," 
and  he  hurriedly  told  Wilton  how  it  happened  that  he  was 
there  with  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac,  and  how  helpless  they 
were  without  knowledge  of  the  country  and  in  danger  of  being 
recognized  and  arrested  for  the  reward. 

'  And  I  haven't  one  sou,  Archie,  not  a  cent  to  bless 
myself " 

Wilton  took  a  full  minute  to  recover  his  faculties.  Then 
he  pulled  out  a  fat  purse  and  handed  it  to  Philip.  "  Here  !  " 
he  said,  with  his  boyish  laugh,  "  I  never  meet  you  but  you've 
been  punching  somebody's  head — I  suppose  you'll  punch 
mine  if  I  don't  give  you  this  !  There's  a  big  roll  of  gold  in 
it — I  forget  how  much." 

"  But  you'll  need  it." 

'  No  ;   I'd  only  blow  it  in.     Besides,  I'll  get  more." 
'  You  are  a  good  fellow,   Wilton,"  said  Philip,  deeply 
moved. 

"  All  right.  What  about  the  party  with  the  cracked  skull  ? 
What  will  you  do  with  him  ?  " 

'  Gag  him  and  leave  him  here  locked  in  ?  "  suggested 
Landes. 

'  No  ;  better  have  him  arrested  as  a  suspect,  then  if  he 
does  recover  he  won't  bother  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac.  I've 
an  ordonnance  at  the  gate.  He'll  sling  the  fellow  across  his 
saddle  and  gallop  him  into  the  Point-du-Jour." 

They  dragged  the  unconscious  man  through  the  room 
where  Jeanne,  who  had  heard  the  struggle  and  muffled  cries, 
was  standing  pale  and  quiet,  and  at  the  garden  gate  they 
hoisted  their  burden  to  the  saddle-bow  of  a  trooper  who  sat 
unconcerned  on  his  sweating  horse. 

"  Picard,  here's  a  suspect.  Run  him  in  to  Mazas  by  the 
Point-du-Jour,"  said  Wilton.  The  trooper  saluted,  grasped 
the  limp  form  by  the  waistband,  shook  the  bridle,  and  was 
off  along  the  Paris  route. 

"  Seems  a  low-down  trick,"  muttered  Landes,  looking  after 
him.     "  But  it's  our  lives  or  his =»" 


238  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'  Yes,  and  it  seems  to  me  he  was  getting  ready  with  a 
trick  of  his  own,"  said  Wilton.  Philip's  face  hardened  as 
he  remembered  how  the  man  had  spoken  of  Jeanne. 

'  Now  what  in  blazes  can  I  get  as  a  disguise  for  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac,  I  wonder,"  pondered  Archie — "  and  for 
you,  too.  If  they  find  you  wandering  about  in  that  uniform, 
they'll  shoot  you  as  a  deserter.  Look  here, — I'm  going  back 
to  the  village  to  steal  some  clothes  for  you — I  was  going  to 
dine  here  with  another  officer,  but  he's — er — incapacitated  by 
drink  from  keeping  his  engagement.  He  won't  miss  his 
uniform  at  present,  and  I'll  borrow  it  for  you.  If  I  can  find 
some  woman's  clothes,  I  will.  If  not,  Mademoiselle  de 
Brassac  has  got  to  wear  what  I  can  find." 

"  Not — not  men's  clothes  !  " 

'  She  can  take  her  choice,"  said  Wilton,  vaulting  into  the 
saddle  ;  "  wear  them  or  run  the  risk  of  getting  caught — and 
mighty  soon,  too — I  heard  she  had  been  seen  before  I  came 
here — a  boy  brought  the  news,  and  the  whole  village  will  be 
after  that  five  thousand  francs.  She's  young  and  slender  and 
as  straight  as  an  arrow,  and  if  she  wears  the  pointed  hood  and 
long  loose  rain-cloak  over  her  cap  and  uniform  you  know — 
she'll  be  invisible,— all  but  her  boots  and  spurs  and  the  tip 
of  her  nose.  You'd  better  advise  her  to  accept  it,  if  necessary 
— unless  3'ou  want  Raoul  Rigault  to  get  her- — — " 

"  She  will  do  so,  if  it  is  necessary,"  said  Philip,  stiffly. 
Wilton  wheeled  his  horse.  "  I'll  be  back  in  no  time,"  he 
called. 

Philip  stood  a  moment  while  he  galloped  off,  then  turned 
and  entered  the  house.  Jeanne  was  standing  by  the  table 
where  he  had  left  her.  When  he  told  her  what  he  had  done 
she  shuddered  a  little.     Then  there  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Will  you  wear  an  officer's  uniform  if  Wilton  can't  get 
anything  better  ?  "  asked  Philip,  flushing  and  looking  away 
from  her. 

"  Of  course,  I  will  wear  whatever  you  think  best,"  she 
answered  quietly.     "  How  will  the  things  come  ?  ' 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied — and  sat  down  a  little  apart 
from  her,  resting  his  head  on  his  clenched  fist.  His  face  had 
become  grey  and  drawn,  his  eyes  stern  and  hard.  Tcherka 
jumped  on  the  table  and  walked  over  to  rub  against  his 
shoulder.  He  looked  up.  "  What  shall  we  do  with  the  cat," 
he  said,  irritably,  "  we  can't  carry  her  about  now." 


COMMISSIONS    FOR    TWO  239 

"Couldn't  we  possibly  take  her  along?  "  asked  Jeanne, 
timidly. 

"  Really,  Jeanne,"  he  said,  a  little  sharply,  "  you  can't 
expect  me  to  risk  your  life  for  a  cat." 

'  Very  well,"  she  answered  gently,  holding  out  her  hand 
to  Tcherka — who  marched  over  to  her  at  once.  Jeanne  took 
the  cat's  beautiful  head  in  both  hands  and  kissed  it  ;  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes  and  she  kept  the  lids  down  so  that 
Philip  should  not  see  them  ;   but  he  saw  them. 

'  Wouldn't  it  be  more  merciful  to  shoot  her  than  to  leave 
her  ?     Soldiers  are  so  cruel,"  asked  Jeanne. 

'  She  shall  come  with  us  for  the  present,"  he  answered  ; 
"  we  won't  part  with  her  unless  we  are  forced  to.  My 
dearest  little  Jeanne,  if  you  were  only  somewhere  safe,  I 
would  bring  you  your  cat  through  thick  and  thin,"  he  added, 
smiling  sadly.  "  I  am  so  nervous  on  your  account, — don't 
be  hurt,  if  I  am  irritable." 

'  Hurt  !  And  you  who  are  thinking  only  of  me,  never 
once  of  yourself  !  Is  it  on  my  life  that  the  price  is  fixed? 
Could  I  not  buy  my  safety  any  moment  with  those  miserable 
diamonds?  But  you  !  What  price  could  buy  your  life  from 
Raoul  Rigault  ?     And  it  is  for  me  you  fear  ! — oh  !  Philip " 

"  Nonsense,  I " 

'  You  are  the  most  generous,  as  you  are  the  bravest  man 
alive,"  she  said  proudly.  "  No  girl  ever  had  such  a — such — " 
she  stumbled  a  little,  and  then  went  on,  her  voice  clear  and 
steady.  "  No  woman  ever  had  such  a  lover  as  you.  I  am  not 
worthy  of  you — but — if  I  could  give  my  life  for  yours,  I  would. ' ' 

"  You  will  give  me  your  life  some  day,"  he  murmured. 

'  I  will,"  she  answered, — "when  you  ask  it." 

How  he  longed  to  take  her  to  his  breast,  to  hold  her  close 
and  trembling,  to  touch  her  hair,  her  eyes,  to  kiss  her  hands  ! 
She  was  so  gentle,  so  winning  in  her  innocence,  so  helpless,  so 
dependent.  But — the  time  had  come  when  he  dared  not 
trust  the  slightest  caress  ;  and  he  was  true  to  himself.  He 
went  to  the  door  and  looked  down  the  dark  road.  There  was 
a  sound  of  distant  galloping  which  came  nearer,  and  nearer 
until  a  rider,  all  muffled  and  shrouded,  swept  up  and  drew 
bridle  as  Philip  hurried  down  to  the  gate.  The  horse, 
ghostly  and  gaunt,  was  dripping  from  bit  and  flank,  the  ridei 
sat  with  shadowy  face  bent  on  Landes  :  and  his  heart  sank 
as  he  saw  it  was  a  Hussar  of  Death, 


240  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked,  with  dry  lips. 

"  You  !  "  croaked  the  man,  and  grinned  maliciously  as 
Philip  drew  back  a  step.  Slowly  he  took  a  bundle  and  a 
letter  from  his  saddle  pouch,  and,  flinging  them  on  the  ground, 
wheeled  his  lank  horse  away  into  the  darkness  again. 

"Damn  their  theatricals  !"  muttered  Philip,  angry  at 
himself  for  having  been  so  startled.  The  deadened  hoof- 
beats  died  away  along  the  road,  and  he  picked  up  the  letter 
and  parcel  and  carried  them  into  the  cottage,  his  heart  heavy 
with  foreboding.  He  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter  and  read 
it  aloud  : 

"  Dear  Philip  : 

"  My  battalion  marches  toward  Issy  in  ten  minutes, — 
the  bugles  are  sounding  now.  Orders  just  in  from  Dom- 
browski  who  takes  command.  I  send  your  clothes  by 
messenger.  There  is  no  answer — let  him  go — it's  one  of  those 
goblin  Hussars  of  Death  and  they  are  the  devil  for  snooping 
and  spving.  Take  care  of  your  lovely  charge  !  Goodness 
knows  I  wish  I  could  help  you  out,  but  I  am  only  a  pawn  on 
the  board.  There  is  one  thing  I  can  do  and  I  enclose  the 
necessary  order.  It  will  keep  you  safe  until  you  can  turn 
yourself  a  little.     I'm  off.  "  Archie  Wilton." 

Enclosed  in  this  hasty  letter,  Philip  found  an  official- 
looking  document  : 

"  Headquarters   of   the   Armv  in    the   Field. 

"April  5th,  1871. 
"  Orders  given  to  the  citizen  Archibald  Wilton,  command- 
ing the  266th  Battalion  to  detail  two  or  more  officers  at  La 
Resida  for  the  purpose  of  inspecting  all  milk,  poultry,  fresh 
vegetables,  eggs,  and  fruit,  in  requisition  and  to  be  delivered 
at  the  Point-du-Jour  as  occasion  requires  for  the  garrison. 
(Signed)  "  Dombrowski." 

To  this  was  attached  a  slip  of  paper  : 

"  Detailed  for  service,  Lieutenants  Dupre  and  Fabrice  of 
the  Subsistence  Department,  now  serving  as  special  aides 
on  my  staff. 

(Signed)  "  Archibald  Wilton, 

"  Colonel," 


COMMISSIONS    FOR    TWO  24 1 

And  again  to  this  was  attached  a  bit  of  paper  on  which 
was  scribbled  : 

"  La  Resida  is  a  village  of  three  houses  on  the  Varzin 
Route.  You'll  be  alone  and  unmolested.  There's  a  servant 
there.  Follow  the  road  which  turns  south  by  the  cottage 
where  you  now  are.  It  takes  two  hours  to  drive  there,  four 
to  walk.  "  Archie." 

'  P.S. — A  word  to  the  wise.  Use  the  dog-cart.  The  man 
won't  mind, — being  in  Mazas  Prison  for  a  month  or  so.  You 
can  keep  it,  too — if  you  don't  mind.  The  horse  will  need 
looking  after  while  his  master  is  enjoying  the  hospitality  of 
the  Commune.  "  A.  W." 

Jeanne  meanwhile  had  opened  the  parcel.  Two  complete 
uniforms  of  officers  of  the  Subsistence  Department  lay  in  the 
papers.  They  were  brand  new.  Pinned  to  the  sleeve  of  one 
of  the  dolmans  was  a  card  : 

'  I  didn't  have  to  steal  after  all.  These  are  fresh  from  the 
Equipment  Bureau  and  I  found  them  in  the  train-des- 
equipages  just  arrived.  If  a  '  tringlot '  comes  with  a  bill  to 
La  Resida,  pay  him — you  have  enough.  "A.  W." 

'  The  d — dear  old  fellow  !  "  cried  Philip,  stammering  with 
happiness. 

Jeanne  gathered  up  the  smaller  suit,  including  the  black 
kepi,  the  slim  spurred  boots,  and  the  pointed  hood  and  cape, 
and  slipped  away  into  the  kitchen,  closing  the  door  behind 
her.  Philip  threw  off  his  Turco  costume  and  put  on  the  new 
uniform  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  for  it  was  clean  and  fresh,  and 
fitted  much  better  than  the  heavy  baggy  Turco  dress.  As 
he  drew  his  visored  silver-edge  cap  over  his  eyes  there  came  a 
knocking  from  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Come  in,  Jeanne,  I'm  ready,"  he  cried. 

With  charming  timidity  she  walked  in  and  stood  still,  a 
picture  of  delightful  confusion.  Under  the  visor  of  her  cap, 
her  eyes,  veiled  by  the  long  lashes,  drooped  a  little  ;  her 
scarlet  lips  were  nervously  compressed,  her  cheeks  crimson. 
The  astrakhan -edged  dolman  fitted  her  lithe  body  to  perfec- 
tion. Above  the  tight  officer's  boots,  which  came  almost  to 
her  knee,  her  young  limbs  seemed  rounded  and  moulded  into 


242  *  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

the  black  riding  breeches  with  their  triple  dark-blue  stripe. 
She  touched  the  hilt  of  her  sword,  glancing  shyly  at  Philip, 
and,  as  she  moved,  her  spurred  heels  rang  on  the  tiled  floor. 

"  A  perfect  soldier  !  A  swordsman  !  A  swordsman  !  " 
he  cried,  marvelling  at  her  grace  and  beauty. 

'  But  my  hair — my  hair  is  very  unmilitary,  Philip  !  " 

"  You  can  draw  the  hood  on." 

"  Of  course  ;  and  that  with  the  long  cloak  will  make  me 
look  like  a  common  soldier  !— and  I'm  an  officer  !  I  shall 
cut  my  hair,"  she  announced. 

'  I'd  like  to  see  you  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  little  Amazon  !  " 
'  But  I  will,"  she  persisted,  mutinously,  "  and  I  like  this 
costume— a   soldier's  !     I   feel   so   free— I— believe    I   hate 
skirts  !  " 

"Oh  !  " 

'  I  do  !  "  she  laughed.  There  was  a  slightly-strained  tone 
of  excitement  in  her  laugh.  The  long  strain  of  weeks,  the 
series  of  shocks  she  had  endured  so  quietly  and  bravely  for 
two  days  past  were  telling  on  her  nerves.  This  feverish 
gaiety  was  a  revulsion  from  the  cruel  suffering  of  suspense. 
It  would  lead  to  a  crisis,  unless  he  interposed. 

"Jeanne,"  he  began 

"  Lieutenant,  if  you  please,"  she  interrupted,  laughing 
almost  hysterically. 

"  Jeanne,"  he  repeated,  "  I  must  clear  up  here  before  we 
go  ;  will  you  help  me  ?  Have  you  your  own  clothes  ?  No  ? 
Get  them  at  once  and  make  a  bundle,  as  small  as  you  can, 
then  take  Tcherka  and  go  and  sit  in  the  dog-cart  until  I  come. 
Hold  on  to  Tcherka,  for  we've  no  time  to  chase  her,  if  she 
takes  it  into  her  head  to  run  away.  I  must  go  and  hide  my 
Turco  suit." 

He  looked  around  the  tool-room  and  found  a  spade,  and, 
going  into  the  garden,  dug  a  hole  large  enough  to  accomo- 
date his  Turco's  costume.  Then  he  returned  to  the  house, 
put  out  the  lamp,  shut  and  locked  the  door,  and  joined 
Jeanne,  whom  he  found  sitting  in  the  dog-cart.  She  had 
put  on  the  long  hooded  cloak,  and  she  looked  very  meek  now, 
hugging  Tcherka  to  her  breast. 

"  Good,"  he  said,  unhitching  the  horses  and  springing  to 
the  seat  beside  her.  "  You  will  need  your  cloak,  i  t  is  going  to 
be  a  cool  drive."  He  glanced  into  her  face.  It  was  quite 
white,   all  trace  of  excitement  was  gone,  and  she  looked 


WITHIN    THE    WALLS  343 

terribly  fatigued.  He  wrapped  his  own  cloak  about  her  feet, 
muffled  her  hands  in  the  warm  folds,  and  then  deliberately 
put  his  arm  around  her  neck  and  drew  her  head  down  to  his 
shoulder. 

'  Sleep — if  you  can,"  he  whispered,  giving  the  reins  a  shake, 
and  the  dog-cart  swung  into  the  Varzin  road  due  south  from 
the  Route  de  Paris. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

Within  the  Walls 

The  great  sortie  to  Versailles,  conceived  and  directed  by 
Bergeret  "  himself,"  had  failed  utterly.  Flourens'  column 
had  been  repulsed  and  driven  through  the  Porte  Maillot  and 
Flourens  lay  dead  in  the  road  with  his  crazy  head  split  open 
by  a  gendarme's  sabre.  Bergeret's  column,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  1st  Turcos  and  the  Hussars  of  Death,  had  made 
good  time  toward  the  Point-du-Jour,  headed  by  Bergeret 
"  himself."  Eudes  was  anxiously  dodging  behind  the  bomb- 
proofs  of  Issy  with  the  fragments  of  his  command,  and 
Duval's  column,  fighting  bravely,  was  slowly  retreating  from 
the  shambles  of  Meudon  and  Clamart.  Duval,  with  his 
entire  staff,  had  been  captured  late  in  the  day,  and,  in 
harmony  with  Monsieur  Thiers'  ideas  of  civilized  warfare, 
had  been  backed  up  against  a  wall  and  shot  without  court- 
martial.  He  met  death  gallantly,  quietly  removed  and 
folded  his  jacket,  placed  it  on  the  grass,  and  throwing  open 
his  shirt  front  cried  :  "  Long  live  the  Republic  !  Aim  ! 
Fire  !  "  And  old  General  Vinoy,  who  stood  by,  gnawing  his 
moustache,  growled  :  "  C'etait  un  crane  bougre, — il  est  mort 
comme  un  bon  bougre  !  " 

The  Army  of  the  Commune  was  in  fragments  and  from  the 
Hdtel  de  Ville  a  howl  went  up  which  chilled  the  Parisians  to 
the  marrow.  The  howl  was  answered  by  one  still  more 
sinister  from  Cluseret. 

In  1848  Cluseret  was  a  Mobile,  later  he  was  a  Captain  in  the 
Foot  Chasseurs,  but  his  resignation  was  requested  on  account 
of  some  alleged  irregularity  in  money  matters.  Then  he 
went  to  America  and  became  a  General  during  the  War  of 
Secession,  but  history  is  silent  as  to  his  exploits.     When  he 


244  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

returned  to  Paris  he  edited  a  newspaper.  According  to  his 
own  statement,  "  he  hadn't  read  very  much,"  but  he  signed 
his  articles  "  General  Cluseret,"  and  that  went  a  great  way 
with  himself,  although  it  shocked  the  professional  sense  of  the 
Paris  press. 

Hardly  was  he  installed  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville  before  he 
began  to  issue  decrees  at  such  a  rate  that  the  Government 
printer  resigned  his  position. 

The  first  decree  re-established  the  Compagnies  de  Marche 
of  the  National  Guard.     It  read  as  follows  : 

"  In  consequence  of  the  patriotic  demand  of  the  great  mass  of  the 
National  Guard,  who,  although  married,  insist  on  being  accorded  the 
honour  of  defending  their  country  and  their  municipal  independence, 
the  decree  of  the  5th  of  April  is  modified  as  follows  : 

"  1st.  From  the  age  of  seventeen  to  nineteen,  service  in  the  Army 
of  the  Commune  will  be  voluntary  ;  and  from  the  age  of  nineteen  to 
forty,  obligatory  for  all  National  Guards  whether  married  or  not. 

"  2nd.  I  urge  all  good  patriots  to  serve  as  police  for  their  own  city 
wards  and  to  force  all  refractory  persons  to  serve  in  the  Army  of  the 
Commune. 

This  infamous  decree  was  signed  : 

"  Le  d616gu6  a  la  guerre, 

General  Cluseret." 

According  to  its  terms,  a  citizen  would  be  forced  to  serve, 
in  civil  war,  a  cause  which  might  be  odious  to  him.  No 
measure  was  more  unpopular  or  did  more  injury  to  the  cause 
of  the  Commune.  It  organized  and  legalized  the  search  for 
and  pursuit  of  neutral  citizens,  anywhere  and  everywhere, — 
in  the  streets,  in  their  homes,  in  the  very  churches, — even 
at  the  foot  of  the  high  altar. 

But  General  Cluseret's  second  decree  was  destined  to  dim 
the  lustre  of  the  first,  for  in  it  he  established  military  terror — 
the  Court-Martial. 

Raoul  Rigault  looked  askance  at  these  proceedings,  fearing, 
no  doubt,  that  they  would  take  away  from  him  people  whom 
he  might  prefer  to  murder  himself,  so  he  redoubled  his 
"  vigilance  "  and  the  prisons  were  gorged  with  priests. 

Meanwhile  at  Versailles,  MacMahon  took  command,  al- 
ways, of  course,  under  the  foxy  eye  of  Monsieur  Thiers  ;  and 
now  the  Army  of  Versailles  was  composed  of  two  strong 


WITHIN    THE    WALLS  245 

infantry  corps  and  a  heavy  corps  of  cavalry,  besides  two 
divisions  of  infantry  held  as  reserve.  MacMahon  lost  no 
time.  On  the  6th  of  April  the  outer  line  of  forts  was  besieged  ; 
on  the  7th,  the  Versaillists  reached  Gennevilliers  ;  the  8th, 
Montaudon's  division  fell  upon  the  bridge  of  Neuilly  and 
swept  it  clean  ;  on  the  9th,  de  Gallifet's  chasseurs  galloped 
into  Courbevoie  ;  and  on  the  17th  Davoust  led  the  assault  on 
the  famous  Chateau  of  Becon,  which  was  the  key  to  Genne- 
villiers. On  the  18th,  a  regiment  of  gendarmes  chased  the 
Federals  out  of  Bois-de-Colombes  ;  the  19th,  the  Hussars  of 
Death,  the  Polish  Riders,  the  Ganbaldians,  and  the  34th  de 
Marche  were  hurled  across  the  bridge  of  Asnieres  and  fled 
pell-mell  into  Paris.  Had  it  not  been  for  Dombrowski,  the 
passage  of  the  Seine  would  have  been  open  to  the  Versailles 
Army. 

'  You  cowards  !  "  he  cried,  spurring  his  horse  through  the 
flying  insurgents,  "  must  a  Polish  officer  give  lessons  in 
courage  to  Frenchmen  !  '  And  he  pushed  himself,  followed 
by  his  staff,  straight  into  the  enemy's  fire,  crying  :  "  No 
cowards  need  follow  me  !  "  The  Federals  heard  him,  rallied 
and  charged,  and  the  bridge  was  saved. 

General  Cluseret,  "  delegue  a  la  guerre,"  selected  three 
lieutenants,  and  to  do  him  justice  he  selected  them  fairly 
well.  The  best  of  the  three  was  Dombrowski,  who  was 
entrusted  with  the  lines  of  defence  from  Saint-Ouen  to  the 
Point-du-Jour,  and  who  established  his  headquarters  at  La 
Muette.     His  strategy  and  defence  were  admirable. 

The  second  of  these  lieutenants  was  Wrobleski,  another 
Pole,  who  probably  knew  more  than  most  of  the  gentlemen 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  certainly  knew  more  than  Cluseret, 
but  he  was  not  the  equal  of  Dombrowski.  Wrobleski  com- 
manded the  lines  from  the  Point-du-Jour  to  Bercy. 

The  third  man  selected  by  General  Cluseret  was  La  Cecilia, 
a  well-bred,  harmless  gentleman,  who  spoke  or  understood 
twenty-six  languages,  and  passed  for  an  erudite  mathe- 
matician ;  but,  although  he  had  distinguished  himself  as  a 
Colonel  of  franc-tireursin  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  he  was  no 
General,  and  would  have  done  much  better  to  have  remained 
a  simple  Colonel. 

With  these  three  men  Cluseret  might  have  done  something  ; 
he  ought  to  have  done  a  great  deal,  but,  like  Monsieur  Thiers, 
he   "  did  nothing,"  and  did  it  almost  as  energetically  as 


246  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Monsieur  Thiers.  Then  the  pack  in  the  H&tel  de  Ville  fell  on 
him,  as  it  had  fallen  with  him  on  others. 

"  Cluseret  is  an  incapable  !  "  shouted  Arnold. 

"  Cluseret  is  a  fool  !  "  yelled  Vaillant. 

"Cluseret  is  a  suspect!"  added  Clovis  Dupont,  with  a 
cold  sneer.  v 

That  settled  it  ;  the  word  "  suspect  "  always  settled  things. 
Cluseret  was  relieved  of  his  command,  cashiered,  and  a  decree 
was  issued,  which  after  many  preambles  ended  thus  : 

"  It  is  decreed — 

"  That  the  Citizen  Cluseret  be  placed  under  arrest,  and  so  maintained 
until  the  end  of  the  present  military  operations." 

So  Raoul  Rigault  had  his  grip  on  Cluseret's  throat  ;  and 
Rossel,  the  same  day,  stepped  into  Cluseret's  shoes. 

The  abandonment  of  the  fort  of  Issy  was  Cluseret's  last  act  ; 
the  recapture  of  that  fortress  was  Rossel's  first  act. 

On  the  29th  of  April  the  Versailles  batteries  at  Meudon  and 
Breteuil  pounded  the  last  semblance  of  shape  and  form  out 
of  the  fort  of  Issy,  and  in  spite  of  the  armoured  trains  which 
opened  fire  from  the  viaduct  of  the  Point-du-Jour, — in  spite 
of  the  gun-boats  and  the  terrible  storm  from  bastions  76  and 
77,  the  Versaillists  advanced  by  Clamart  and  Moulineaux, 
occupying  the  park  and  trenches  of  the  Issy  fort,  and  rapidly 
threw  up  breastworks  which  protected  them  from  the 
musketry  fusillade.  The  bombardment  ceased  at  midnight, 
but  when  the  day  broke  the  batteries  of  Val-Fleury  thun- 
dered, and  the  smoking  ruins  of  Issy  were  again  covered  with 
bursting  shells.  All  day  long  the  exhausted  garrison  crouched 
among  the  debris,  and  when  night  came,  their  commander 
having  fled,  they  crept  out  of  the  crumbling  crater  and 
entered  Paris  at  the  Point-du-Jour.  The  fort  had  fallen,  the 
Versailles  troops  were  already  crawling  cautiously  over  the 
trenches  and  glacis,  when  Colonel  Rossel,  at  the  head  of  the 
Hussars  of  Death  and  the  remnants  of  the  1st  Turcos,  burst 
through  the  Issy  cemetery,  swept  the  Versailles  troops  from 
the  Park,  the  Chateau,  and  the  Couvent  des  Oiseaux,  and 
once  more  the  red  flag  of  the  Commune  flapped  from  the  iron 
staff  on  the  ruins  of  the  Issy  fort. 

Until  the  9th  of  May,  the  handful  of  men  of  the  1st  Turcos 
clung  to  the  fort  of  Issy,  now  in  ruins.  The  crash  of  their 
siege  guns  and  the  rattle  of  their  American  Gatlings  com- 


WITHIN    THE    WALLS  247 

forted  the  wrangling  patriots  at  the  H6tel  de  Ville  ;  but  the 
fort  of  Issy  was  doomed,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  9th  of 
May  the  walls  of  Paris  were  placarded  with  this  poster  : 


'  the  tricolour  floats  from  the  fort  of  issy  j 
the  first  battalion  of  paris  turcos  is  absolutely 
annihilated. 

"  le  delegue  a  la  guerre, 
(Signed)  "  rossel." 


Then  the  Hotel  de  Ville  shrieked  "  Treason  !  "  but  Rossel 
stalked  into  their  midst,  sternly  reproaching  them  for  their 
inaction. 

'  I  asked  you  for  artillery  and  infantry,  and  you  delayed. 
Where  is  the  treason  ?  "  he  cried.  "  I  asked  you  for  a 
general,  and  you  sent  me  a  seedy  professor  ;  I  asked  for 
colonels,  majors,  captains,  and  you  sent  me  bakers,  butchers, 
and  political  scavengers  !  Where  is  the  treason  ?  Your 
quarrelling  committees  have  paralysed  my  every  movement, 
your  feeble  hesitation  has  lost  me  my  fort."  Then  turning 
disdainfully  to  Delescluze,  he  said  :  "I  resign, — and  I  have 
the  honour  to  request  of  you  a  cell  in  Mazas  Prison  !  " 

The  Central  Committee  gaped  at  him  in  amazement. 
Delescluze  frowned,  and  turning  to  Billioray,  muttered  : 
"  Do  you  hear  what  he  asks  ?  " 

'  I  do,"  sneered  Billioray  ;  "  give  him  his  cell,  and  come 
to  dinner." 

Of  the  three  hundred  men,  the  remnants  of  the  1st  Battalion 
of  Paris  Turcos,  only  one  escaped  destruction  in  the  fort  of 
Issy.  With  his  company  which  had  fled  from  Bas-Meudon 
woods  and  with  Pagot's  company  from  the  barricade  in  the 
Rue  Notre-Dame,  Weser  had  marched  through  the  Issy 
cemetery  and  had  been  present  when  the  troops,  led  by  Rossel, 
swept  the  Versaillists  from  trench  and  rifle-pit  and  regained 
the  fort ;  but  the  lines  of  investment  grew  tighter  day  by 
day,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  9th  of  May  the  Zouaves  of 
Charette  fell  once  more  upon  the  crumbling  fort.  It  was 
over  in  a  few  minutes,  no  quarter  being  given,  and  the 
tricolour  fluttered  gaily  over  the  heaped-up  corpses.  Isidore 
Weser,  the  night  before,  had  foreseen  this.  He  did  not 
require  very  long  to  make  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he  should 
K 


248  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

do.  Pagot,  half  divining  his  intention,  kept  a  keen  eye  on 
him. 

"  Izzy,"  he  growled,  "  if  you  ever  try  to  desert  your  men, 
I'll  see  that  you  go  farther  than  Paris." 

"  You  mean — to  heaven  ?  " 

*'  I  mean  to  hell." 

So  when,  on  the  night  of  the  8th  of  May,  Weser  crept  out 
of  the  bomb-proof,  Pagot,  lurking  behind  the  ruined  barracks, 
saw  him  steal  across  the  parade,  and  promptly  confronted 
him. 

'  Where  are  you  going,  Izzy  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  I've  got  a  bullet  in  my  foot,"  replied  Weser,  "  I'm  going 
to  the  hospital." 

"  Curious  !    You  don't  limp,"  mused  Pagot. 

"  Look  for  yourself,  then,"  said  Weser,  sticking  out  one 
tattered  shoe. 

Pagot  stooped  and  took  the  foot  in  his  hands. 

"  Where  is  it  ?     Does  it  hurt,  Izzy  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  painful." 

"  But  I  don't  see "  began  Pagot. 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  snarled  Weser,  burying  a  knife  in  his 
back, — "  so  sorry,  but  I  must  go  now." 

And  so  it  happened  that  Isidore  Weser,  a  little  footsore  and 
with  wary  eyes  on  the  watch,  walked  into  the  bureau  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  where  Tribert  sat  comfortably  copying  orders 
and  decrees.  Tribert  eyed  him  in  surprise,  and  his  surprise 
changed  to  something  else  when  Weser  began  to  relate  his 
feats  of  prowess,  in  what  he  asserted  was  the  last  assault  on 
the  Issy  fort. 

'  It's  marvellous  that  I  alone  was  saved  to  tell  the  tale," 
he  ended  fervently. 

'  Yes,"  said  Tribert,  "  it  is  really  marvellous." 

"  I  fought  like  a  demon " 

"  As  usual,"  observed  Tribert. 

"  All  my  men  were  down, — the  cannon  thundered  and  the 
air  was  literally  solid  with  shot  and  shell.  Poor  Pagot  fell 
with  a  bullet  in  his  heart " 

'  So  when  he  lost  his  heart  you  lost  yours." 

"The  bastions  crumbled  into  dust, — the  ground  was  wet 
with  blood, — blood  flowed  through  the  trenches, — blood 
splashed  in  the  rifle-pits — blood  ran " 

"  So  you  ran." 


WITHIN    THE    WALLS  249 

Weser  paused  and  fixed  his  bright  black  eyes  on  Tribcrt's 
face.     "  Don't  you  believe  me  ?  " 

"  No,  Izzy." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Weser,  softly. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Weser,  in  a  fresh  uniform  of  a  staff- 
officer,  filed  his  marvellous  report  of  the  Issy  massacre,  and 
settled  down  to  write  orders  in  Tribert's  bureau. 

He  would  have  felt  himself  very  comfortable  but  for  what 
he  knew  Tribert  suspected,  and  what  he  feared  Tribert  might 
know — and  his  peace  of  mind  was  also  ruffled  by  a  vile  habit 
Tribert  had  of  saying  things  to  frighten  him. 

"  Izzy,"  he  observed,  one  very  pleasant  afternoon  when 
Weser  felt  like  enjoying  himself, — "  Izzy,  the  Commune  is  on 
its  last  legs.  We  shall  all  be  shot  soon,  when  Monsieur  Thiers 
comes  back." 

"  Bah  !  '  replied  Weser,  valiantly,  but  his  blood  was 
chilled. 

"  Officers  will  get  no  quarter,"  continued  Tribert  ;  "  Raoul 
Rigault  and  you  will  probably  be  tortured." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Weser,  angrily.—"  When  is  Raoul  Rigault 
going  to  shoot  those  priests  ?  " 

"  Soon,  I  hope — he's  slow.  The  old  Darboy  has  been  kept 
waiting  too  long  for  his  conge.     I'd  have  hung  him  long  ago." 

"  Yes,  Raoul  is  slow  sometimes,  unaccountably  slow." 
'  But  he's  sure,  Izzy,  and  I  think  he's  got  his  eye  on  you," 
said  Tribert,  with  clumsy  malice. 

"  He's  a  lunatic  !  "  muttered  Weser,  quailing. 

"  No — I  think  only  a  little  fond  of  killing.  We're  none  of 
us  safe,  Izzy,  with  him — now  that  he  has  begun  to  turn 
suspicion  on  the  Central  Committee.  Yesterday  he  arrested 
Rossel,  to-day  he  denounces  Eudes,  to-morrow  it  may  be 
even  Delescluze " 

"  Or  you,  or  me,"  suggested  Weser,  slyly,  detecting  a 
tremor  through  Tribert's  bravado.  "  And  he's  not  very 
clever  after  all ;  I  wonder  why  we  let  him  frighten  us,"  con- 
tinued Weser,  feeling  he  was  getting  the  upper  hand  ; — "  for 
instance,  after  all  the  pains  he  took  to  catch  the  American, 
Landes,  he  never  caught  him." 

"  Landes,"  repeated  Tribert  in  an  ominous  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Weser,  pretending  not  to  understand — "  don't 
you  remember  him  ?  You  ought  to,  he's  left  his  mark  on 
your  face " 


250  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Tribert  burst  into  a  rage  so  wild  that  Weser  seized  his 
portfolio  and  fled  to  the  next  room,  where  he  locked  himself 
in  and  sat  down  and  laughed  until  his  bead-like  eyes  grew 
glassy.  He  could  hear  Tribert  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall 
stamping  and  cursing,  and  at  last  he  lay  down  on  a  lounge 
weak  with  mirth. 

'  The  ugly  baboon  !  "  he  chuckled,  "  how  nasty  white  he 
got,  and  how  the  scar  showed  !  Oh  my  !  Oh  my  !  the 
bull-necked  bully  !  Oh  dear  !  Oh  my  !  "  Weser  had  to 
hold  his  sides  again. 

The  same  afternoon,  Tribert,  pocketing  his  reluctance  to 
meet  Raoul  Rigault,  set  out  for  Police  Headquarters.  He 
found  Rigault  washing  his  hands  in  a  basin  of  scented  water. 

'  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Colonel  Tribert  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
a  smile  so  cold  that  Tribert  faltered.  Drying  his  plump  white 
fingers  on  a  damask  napkin,  he  called  an  orderly  to  brush  him. 

'  If  you  are  going  out  I  won't  detain  you,"  said  Tribert, 
sorry  he  had  come,  and  edging  toward  the  door. 

"  I  am  going  to  dinner,  but  if  you  wish  to  denounce  any- 
body I  always  have  time  for  that,  you  understand." 

"  No — yes — that  is,  I  wished  to  ask  whether  you  have  been 
able  to  find  any  trace  of  the  American,  Landes." 

"Have  you  come  to  criticise  my  department?"  asked 
Rigault,  with  a  dangerous  flicker  in  his  near-sighted  eyes. 

'  No  !  Oh  no,  no,  no  !  "  cried  Tribert  in  a  hurry.  "  I 
only  wished " 

'  What  ?  "  snarled  Rigault,  shooting  a  deadly  glance  at  him. 

"  I— I  merely  wanted  to  say  that  I  would  be— be  glad  to 
add  five  thousand  francs  to  the  reward." 

"  You  are  very  generous,  Colonel  Tribert,"  said  Rigault, 
deliberately.  "  And  most  disinterested  I  am  sure  !— five 
thousand  francs  out  of  your  own  pocket  !  And  you  only  a 
poor  Colonel,  with  nothing  but  a  Colonel's  pay— just  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  francs  a  month.  Really,  if  I  did  not 
know  you  to  be  incorruptible,  I  might  almost  wonder  how 
you  could  get  your  five  thousand  francs." 

Tribert's  forehead  was  cold  with  sweat,  and  terror  was 
stamped  on  every  feature.  He  stammered  something  and 
moved  again  toward  the  door. 

"  Good-night,  Colonel  Tribert,"  said  Rigault,  looking  after 
him  with  his  pale  eyes. 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  25 1 

CHAPTER    XXIII 

A  Voice  from  the  Clouds 

The  white  hamlet  of  La  Resida  lay  in  the  sunshine  under  a 
sapphire  sky.  On  every  side  stretched  meadows  already 
beginning  to  vibrate  with  insect  life,  for  the  bright  sunlight 
of  May  had  gilded  the  silver  clover  and  opened  little  buds  on 
thorn  and  hedge.  Deep  in  the  fragrant  hearts  of  the  field 
lilies,  bees  hummed  and  buzzed,  and  white  butterflies  flitted 
across  acres  of  daisies,  now  settling  upon  some  blossoming 
stalk,  now  hovering  capriciously,  now  drifting  on  the  soft 
wind. 

When  sudden  shifty  breezes  swayed  the  clover,  each  butter- 
fly clung  fast  to  its  blossom,  but  when  the  wind  died  out  and 
the  ruffled  surface  of  the  shallow  meadow  pools  grew  glassy, 
the  butterflies  rose  together  and  sailed  over  the  clover  in 
powdery  clouds. 

A  yellow  cat,  who  was  spending  all  her  energy  in  pursuit  of 
a  low-fluttering  butterfly,  became  excited  at  the  sight  of  such 
swarms  of  winged  creatures,  and  leaped  frantically  into  the 
air  ;  but  her  paws  only  patted  space,  and  she  settled  down 
again  among  the  clover,  smelling  and  pretending  she  hadn't 
jumped.  Then  from  the  white  highway  came  the  creak  of 
wheels  and  the  sharp  snapping  of  whips.  The  cat  knew  what 
that  meant.  It  meant  a  bowl  of  fresh  cream  and  perhaps  a 
strip  of  tender  meat ;  and  she  bounded  away  through  the 
meadow  toward  the  largest  of  the  three  houses,  before  which  a 
train  of  market  wains  had  now  drawn  up. 

The  dusty  blue-bloused  teamsters  climbed  to  the  ground, 
and  the  half-dozen  troopers,  who  served  as  escort,  dismounted 
with  a  great  clattering  of  sabres  and  carbines,  and  led  their 
horses  under  the  long  red-tiled  shelter  behind  the  house. 

"  Tiens,  here  is  the  cat  again,"  cried  a  burly  dragoon  ; 
"  she  knows  on  which  side  her  bread  is  buttered."  He  called 
to  her  gaily  and  she  came,  tail  erect,  uttering  pleased  mews 
of  expectation. 

"  Come  here — here,  Tcherka,"  called  a  young  trooper, 
trailing  Ins  scabbard  in  the  grass  to  lure  the  cat  to  him,  but 
Tcherka  knew  her  business,  and  proceeded  to  rub  and  mew 
and  flatter  the  burly  red-faced  cavalryman  until  he  laughed 


252  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

and  called  to  a  teamster  :    "  Eh  !  La-bas  '.—bring  me  a  jug 
of  cream  and  a  cup  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  stucco  cottage  opened  and 
a  man  in  the  black,  blue,  and  silver  uniform  of  a  Lieutenant 
of  the  Commune,  Subsistence  Department,  stepped  out  on 
the  lawn.  All  the  troopers  saluted,  and  the  teamsters  raised 
their  long  whips  and  stood  at  attention.  The  officer  touched 
the  polished  visor  of  his  cap,  nodded  smiling,  and  looked  at 
Tcherka,  who  crouched  in  ecstasy  before  a  cup  of  pure  cream. 

"  I  see,  citizens,  that  I  am  becoming  superfluous  as 
inspector  here.  My  cat  samples  and  tests  for  me  ;  I  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  countersign  your  invoice,"  he  said. 

Every  morning  it  was  understood  that  some  mild  pleasantry 
should  be  dispensed  concerning  Tcherka's  prompt  arrival  on 
the  appearance  of  the  provision  convoy,  and  every  morning 
the  troopers  laughed  and  saluted,  and  the  teamsters  grinned 
and  snapped  their  long  whips. 

"  She  is  a  fine  cat,— no  finer  cat  exists  in  France,  Citizen 
Lieutenant,"  said  the  burly  red-faced  dragoon.  This  was  his 
invariable  reply  to  Philip's  pleasantries  ;  it  came  next  in 
order,  after  morning  greetings  had  been  exchanged. 

Philip  nodded,  and  taking  the  long  strip  of  stamped  paper 
which  the  head  teamster  fished  out  of  the  crown  of  his  peaked 
cap,  walked  slowly  along  the  lines  of  wagons,  poking  a 
cabbage  now  and  then,  picking  up  and  critically  weighing  eggs 
in  the  palm  of  Ms  hand,  sipping  samples  of  milk,  or  nibbling 
at  a  leaf  of  escarole  or  romaine.  The  head  teamster  had 
taught  him  how  to  do  this.  It  looked  knowing  and  very 
official,  and  he  supposed  it  was  all  right,  because  General  La 
Cecilia,  who  was  in  command  at  the  Point-du-Jour,  was  never 
heard  from,  and  the  garrison  found  no  fault  with  the  quality 
of  the  food.  So  Philip  played  at  Provision  Inspector, 
frowned  a  little  when  he  thought  he  had  been  smiling  too 
much,  looked  with  sudden  suspicion  at  an  innocent  carrot, 
hemmed,  coughed,  and  stamped  the  invoice.  Then  affixing 
the  seals  and  signing  with  a  flourish,  he  returned  the  certificate 
and  invoice  to  the  head  teamster,  who  ducked  and  smiled  in 
anticipation. 

"  Citizens,  you  are  tired— the  road  is  dusty— a  little 
wine  i 

This  was  Philip's  invariable  formula,  and  the  invariable 
chorus  came  heartily  :    "  A  thousand  thanks,  Citizen  Lieu- 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  253 

tenant  !  "  So  Philip  called  to  his  long-legged  servant,  and 
Jacques, — his  name  was  Jacques  Jean  Marie  Louis  Joseph 
Bottier, — brought  out  a  tray  and  a  half-dozen  bottles  of 
ordinary  wine.     Philip  solemnly  filled  his  glass  and  raised  it. 

"  To  the  Republic,  citizens  !  " 

"  To  the  Republic  !  "  they  cried,  draining  their  glasses. 

Then  the  troopers  led  their  horses  from  the  shelter,  the 
teamsters  climbed  into  their  heavy  wagons,  the  provision 
train  slowly  moved  tway  toward  the  summit  of  the  low  hill 
frcm  which  one  could  see  Paris  and  the  Seine  ;  and  the  little 
hamlet  of  La  Resida  lay  again  silent  and  deserted  in  the 
bright  May  sunshine. 

Philip  stood  in  the  doorway  until  the  last  wagon  had  dis- 
appeared behind  the  hill  and  the  last  trooper  had  trotted  out 
of  sight.  The  stillness  of  the  morning  was  perfect.  In  the 
road  below,  a  very  young  rabbit  hopped  out  of  a  hedge, 
wrinkled  its  nose,  stared  at  Tcherka  with  large  moist  eyes, 
and  scuttled  noiselessly  back  into  the  hedge  again. 

The  chances  were  a  hundred  to  one  that  no  human  being 
would  pass  along  the  disused  road  until  the  wagon  train 
returned  at  midnight.  The  chances  were  a  thousand  to  one 
that  Jacques  Jean  Marie  Louis  Joseph  Bottier  would  stumble 
and  break  at  least  one  glass  when  he  shambled  out  to  remove 
the  tray.  Philip  mentally  took  the  bet,  although  the  odds 
were  terrible,  but  he  knew  his  man,  called  to  him,  and  won  the 
bet  hands  down.  Jacques  Jean  Marie  Louis  Joseph  Bottier 
had  broken  three  glasses. 

"  I — I  am  very  sorry,  mon  Lieutenant,"  mumbled  Jacques. 

"  Never  mind,  the  Government  pays,  mon  enfant ;  get  a 
broom  and  sweep  up  the  bits, — and  be  careful  where  you 
throw  them.     Is  Lieutenant  Fabrice  up  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Lieutenant." 

"  Indeed,  I  am,"  said  a  gay  voice  from  the  window  above  ; 
'  Jacques,  my  son,  I  wish  my  coffee  at  once.  Good-morning, 
citizen  Lieutenant  Dupre  !  " 

"  Good-morning,  Lieutenant,"  replied  Philip,  gravely 
saluting.  "  Am  I  to  have  the  honour  of  joining  you  at 
breakfast  ?  " 

"Charmed  and  flattered,"  came  the  answer;  "wait  a 
moment,  Philip  ;  I'll  come  down  under  the  trees  with  you," 
and  the  figure  at  the  window  above  disappeared. 

"  Bring  the  coffee  out  here,  Jacques,"  said  Philip,  and  sat 


254  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

down  under  the  chestnut  trees  at  the  hedge  gate.  In  another 
moment  a  supple,  slim  young  figure,  clothed  exactly  like 
Landes,  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  I  have  a  mind  to  put  on  my  own  clothes  to-day,  Philip  ; 
what  do  you  think  ?  It's  over  a  month  now  that  we've  been 
here,  and  we  have  never  seen  anything  more  dangerous  than 
the  wild  rabbits  and  Jacques." 

"Wait,  Jeanne,"  he  said  soberly. 

"  But  I  don't  see — there  !  don't  frown,  Philip — I'm  not 
going  to  be  unreasonable, — but  I  would  like  to  dress  like  a — 
a  woman  again  just  for  a  few  hours " 

"  And  suppose  General  La  Cecilia  should  gallop  out  here 
to  inspect  !  " 

"  He  won't  !  " 

"  Or  suppose  troops  should  pass  !  " 

"  They  never  do  !  " 

"  Or  the  wagon  train  come  back  !  " 

"  Not    before    midnight." 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Jeanne." 

"  But  I  do  ask  vou,  Philip." 

"Then— don't." 

"  Very  well,"  she  sighed,  "  but  really  the  rabbits  won't 
know  the  difference,  and  Jacques  Jean  Marie  knows  it 
already,  and  we  can  trust  him." 

"  It  is  too  dangerous,"  Landes  said  ;  "  suppose  some 
wandering  trooper  or  prying  peasant  should  see  you  ?  I  tell 
you,  Jeanne,  the  teamsters  and  the  escort  of  the  wagon  train 
are  good  fellows  and  swallow  all  I  give  them  about  your  special 
clerical  work,  but  if  they  begin  to  wonder  why  it  is  they  never 
see  you  except  at  your  desk  by  the  window  in  the  mornings, 
and  take  to  snooping  about  here,  they  will  find  out  the  truth 
in  no  time,  and  you  and  I  will  decorate  the  branches  here 
above  our  heads.     Don't  ask  me,  Jeanne." 

"  Then  I  won't,  you  dear  fellow,"  said  Jeanne,  and  looked 
at  him  with  clear,  sweet  eyes.  "  Do  I  worry  you  nearly  to 
death  ?  You  will  begin  to  turn  grey,  I  suppose — why  !  I  do 
believe  you  have  two  grey  hairs  on  your  temples.  What  a 
shame  !    Is  it  on  my  account  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  laughing,  but  his  laugh  was  not  as 
genuine  as  it  might  have  been,  and  it  ended  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  sigh.  It  was  on  Jeanne's  account.  Within  the 
last  six  weeks  his  eyes  had  grown  hollow  and  those  firm  lines 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  255 

had  come  about  his  mouth  in  thinking  of  her.  Not  of  her 
danger  alone.  No,  there  was  something  besides  that.  His 
love  was  beginning  to  wear  on  him,  and  in  spite  of  himself  he 
was  growing  morbid.  He  knew  she  loved  him  tenderly,  but 
not  with  the  full  love  he  wanted.  He  began  to  fear  she 
never  would  love  him  as  he  did  her.  He  knew  that  under  the 
circumstances  he  ought  to  thank  God  for  her  simple  childlike 
affection,  and  yet  sometimes  the  temptation  almost  mastered 
him  to  try  and  change  her  feeling  to  a  deeper  one.  The 
struggle  began  to  wear  on  him. 

Jacques  brought  coffee  and  rolls,  and  they  sat  down  to 
breakfast  under  the  flowering  chestnut  trees  by  the  hedge. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  to-day,  Monsieur,"  she  said 
gaily. 

"  We  are  going  to  teach  you  to  saj'  '  Citizen  '  instead  of 
'  Monsieur,'  I  think — you  imprudent  girl  !  " 

"  Et  apres  ?  "  she  persisted,  with  a  wilful  smile. 

"  Whatever  you  wish — shall  we  walk  across  the  meadow 
to  the  brook  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  so  that  you  may  spend  the  day  poking 
about  to  see  if  there  are  any  trout  in  the  pools  !  "  she  laughed. 
'  You  know  you  might  as  well  look  for  mermaids  in  the 
Seine  !  " 

"  If  I  only  had  my  colours  here  !  "  he  said  wistfully. 

"  Poor  boy  !  You  shall  look  for  trout  all  day,  if  that  will 
help  you  to  forget  your  easel  !  " 

'  Well,  then,  suppose  we  fix  up  a  couple  of  rods  and  try  the 
stream,  anyway." 

"  For  the  trout  that  are  not  there  ?  " 

"  They  may  be  there, — those  pools  are  deep  and  no  May- 
flies have  hatched  out  this  season.  I  believe  I  will  try  it. 
Jacques  has  hooks  and  lines  ;  he  fishes  for  gudgeon  in  the 
Seine.     Here,  Jacques  !  " 

After  Philip  had  selected  two  from  a  bundle  of  cane  fishing- 
rods  which  the  servant  brought  him,  he  asked  Jacques, 
"  What  do  you  do  for  bait  ? 

"  Worms  !  "  said  Jacques,  briefly. 

Jeanne  turned  away  in  disgust.  Philip  removed  the  gaudy 
quill  floats  from  the  lines  and  called  :  "  Jeanne,  where's 
your  work-basket  ?  " 

"  In  my  room." 

"  Go  and  get  it,  Jacques,  and  bring  me  some  shoemaker's 


256  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

wax  and  all  of  your  spare  hooks.  We  arc  going  to  have 
pigeons  for  dinner,  aren't  we  ? 

"  Yes,  Lieutenant." 

"  Are  they  plucked  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lieutenant." 

"  And  there  is  a  duck  and  a  pullet  in  the  cellar.  Did  you 
pluck  them  too  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,   Lieutenant." 

"  Can  you  bring  me  the  feathers  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lieutenant." 

"  Good.  Now,  Jeanne,  come  here  and  learn  how  to  tie  a 
fly,"  he  said  presently,  and  she  immediately  sat  down  on  the 
ground  beside  him.  Piles  of  mottled  feathers  lay  all  around 
them,  spools  of  red  and  yellow  silk  were  in  their  laps. 

"  Watch  me,  Jeanne,  see,  it  is  very  easy." 

He  took  a  fine  hook  in  his  hand,  laid  the  hackle  from  the 
pullet's  neck  against  the  shank,  and  bound  it  firmly  with  a 
twist  or  two  of  the  waxed  silk.  Then  he  clipped  the  tip  from 
a  white  pigeon  feather  and  bound  it  to  the  end  of  the  shank 
for  the  wings.  When  he  had  finished  winding  the  body  and 
had  inserted  a  bit  of  scarlet  worsted  just  above  the  barb,  he 
laid  a  strand  of  silver  tinsel  from  the  galons  of  his  sleeve  over 
the  body  of  the  insect,  bent  back  the  wings,  gave  a  dozen 
quick  turns  to  the  thread,  and  snipped  the  thread  with  his 
knife. 

"  That's  a  very  fair  '  Royal  Coachman,'  "  he  said,  holding 
it  out  for  inspection. 

"  How  pretty  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I  shall  make  one  im- 
mediately." 

They  worked  quickly,  but  her  slender  fingers  flew  faster 
than  his  ;  and  before  he  had  finished  explaining  the  mysteries 
of  "  Professors,"  "  Green  Drakes,"  "  Yellow  Mays," 
"  Hackles,"  "  Spinners,"  and  "  Gnats,"  she  had  a  little  heap 
of  a  dozen  tempting-looking  flies  in  her  lap,  while  he  could 
only  count  eight. 

"  They  are  beautifully  dressed,"  he  said,  highly  delighted  ; 
"  you  tie  a  fly  much  better  than  I  do." 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  she  laughed,  springing  up,  "  and  now  I 
intend  to  go  and  catch  a  little  fish." 

"  This  is  a  highly  accomplished  young  lady,"  said  Philip, 
rising  and  brushing  the  bits  of  tinsel,  silk,  and  feather  from 
his  braided  jacket ;   "  look  at  your  spurs,  Jeanne  ;  who  ever 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  257 

heard  of  a  trout  fisherman  in  spurred  boots  ?     Give  your 
sabre  to  Jacques  !  " 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  fisherman  in  staff  uniform  ?  "  she 
retorted. 

They  unbuckled  their  sabres  and  handed  them  to  Jacques, 
whose  approval  of  the  proceedings  was  expressed  in  a  grin. 

"  Take  care  of  Tcherka,  Jacques,"  said  Jeanne,  with  a 
pretty  gesture  toward  the  cat,  who  sprawled  dozing  in  the  sun 
by  the  hedge  ;    "  when  shall  we  return,  Philip  ?  " 

"  By  six  anyway.  Dinner  at  seven,  Jacques  ; — pigeons 
and  salad,  you  know, — and  don't  you  dare  burn  the  soup  !  " 

Jacques  ducked  and  grinned. 
'  If  anybody  should  come,"  began  Philip 

"  Nobody  will  come  ;  are  you  ready  ?  "  she  cried  im- 
patiently. 

'  Yes,"  he  said,  picking  up  both  rods  ;  but  Jeanne  insisted 
on  carrying  her  own,  and  imitated  Philip's  method  of  dis- 
posing of  his  flies  by  sticking  them  all  over  her  silver-banded 
cap.  The  cap  set  very  naturally  on  her  head  now,  for, 
eluding  Philip's  vigilance,  she  had  cut  off  her  lovely  hair,  and 
now  it  curled  and  waved  all  over  her  small  head. 

Philip  swung  to  his  shoulder  a  campaign  sack  in  which  were 
chicken  sandwiches  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  followed  her 
through  the  hedge  gate. 

"  If  anything  happens  and  we  don't  return  for  dinner,"  he 
called  to  Jacques  over  the  gate,  "  you  must  not  be  alarmed  ; 
keep  a  cautious  tongue  in  your  head,  and  stay  right  here 
until  we  do  come  back." 

"  And  take  good  care  of  Tcherka  !  "  added  Jeanne,  gaily. 
At  the  sound  of  her  name,  Tcherka  raised  her  pink  nose  and 
blinked  in  the  sunlight,  but  Jeanne  and  Pirlip  had  turned  into 
the  meadow  and  were  already  wading  ankle-deep  in  the 
scented  clover.  She  moved  through  the  clover  lightly,  her 
fair  face  faintly  tinged  with  colour,  little  glints  of  soft  hair 
blowing  over  her  cheeks.  The  collar  of  her  jacket  dented 
the  skin  on  her  white  throat  and  she  left  it  open. 

"  Did  you  bring  any  brioche  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  For  you — of  course." 

"  You  never  forget  anything." 

"  I  cannot — anything  that  concerns  you." 

"  I'm  sure  there  is  one  thing  you  forgot." 

"What?  " 


258  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Salt  !  ' 

"  But  you  do  not  use  it." 
"  But  you  do  !  " 
He  laughed  and  coloured. 

She  was  silent,  and  they  moved  on  lightly  through  the 
fragrant  meadow. 

"Butterflies,  butterflies,  and  more  butterflies  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed at  last.  "  I  think  the  clover  has  taken  wings  !  Do 
you  suppose  they  are  happy  ?  I  am  sure  they  are.  See 
them  whirl  and  hover  and  then  go  fluttering  up,  up,  up,  until 
they  fade  into  the  blue.  Do  they  ever  come  down  again  ? 
There  go  two  more  up,  up  to  the  sky.  Do  they  always  go 
together — two  together — when  they  sail  away  into"  the 
blue  sky  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  they  are  seeking  the  haven  of  love,"  he  said 
sadly. 

She   noticed   his   tone,    and   continued  in   a  low   voice  : 
"  Psyche  holds  a  butterfly.     Is  love  immortal,  Philip  ?  " 
"  Some  love  is." 
"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 
"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  he  repeated  sharply. 
"  Yes — how  do  you  know  ?  " 
"  Because  I  love." 

They  went  on  some  time  in  silence.  She  was  a  little  in 
advance.  When  they  came  to  the  meadow  brook,  she  waited 
for  him  at  the  edge.  He  helped  her  over,  and,  when  he  would 
have  dropped  her  hand,  her  slender  fingers  held  his.  Her 
eyes  were  turned  toward  the  near  woods. 
"  Listen  !  "  she  said—"  the  birds." 

How  deep  and  warm  the  fragrance  of  the  sunlit  meadows  ! 
How  sweet  and  cool  the  glades  through  which  their  path  now 
lay  !     Her  soft  white  hand,  which  thrilled  him  so,  lay  in  his 
own,  quite  passive,  as  side  by  side  they  moved  along  the 
narrow  woodland  path.     And  from  the  dim  arches  of  the 
forest  aisles  the  song  of  the  birds  swelled  unceasingly.     High 
on  the  tip  of  a  tall  pine  a  blackbird  was  singing  to  his  mate. 
"  A  blackbird  !    Our  prophet  !  "  whispered  Jeanne. 
'  What  does  he  prophesy,  Jeanne  ?  " 
"  Happiness — I  think." 
"  For  us  ?  " 

She  bent  her  head,  the  colour  mantled  neck  and  forehead. 
"  For  us  ?  "  he  repeated. 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  259 

"  He  is  our  prophet,"  she  murmured  ;  "  don't  ask  me  yet, 
Phdip— give  me  time." 

"  Tell  me,"  he  pleaded. 

"What?" 
'  That  you  are  learning  to  love." 

"  To  love,"  she  repeated,  trembling.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know — 
wait — wait,  I  must  have  time.  I  scarcely  know  what  I  am 
saying.     It  came  so  suddenly — in  the  meadow " 

"  You  are  frightened,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  happy  voice  ; 
'  I  will  wait,  Jeanne, — don't  tremble  so,  I  am  only  Philip, 
your  comrade " 

'  You  are  more,"  she  cried—"  Philip,  I  love  you  !  "  and 
she  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

'  The  birds  are  still  singing,"  he  murmured,  as  she  lay 
trembling  in  his  arms.  She  nestled  her  head  closer  to  his, 
her  eyes,  half-veiled,  drooped  with  a  new  shyness. 

"  Jeanne,  Jeanne,"  he  murmured,  "  I  love  you." 

And  at  last  she  answered  him,  speaking  his  own  language  : 
"  Ah  !  How  I  love  you,  my  Philip  !  "  She  raised  her  face  to 
his  in  the  innocence  of  her  passion.  How  her  heart  was 
beating  !  He  held  her  closer.  The  forest  around  was  very 
still.   Their  lips  met.   The  blackbird  uttered  a  long  liquid  note. 

If  there  had  been  a  trout  in  the  stream,  and  if  Philip  and 
Jeanne  had  fished  for  them,  the  trout  might  have  taken  the 
artificial  flies.  But  those  prattling  rapids,  and  deep  amber 
pools  swirling  under  green  leaves,  were  never  disturbed  by 
fishermen  that  day.  A  heavy  fish  floundered  up  after  a 
struggling  cricket,  but  the  leap  and  splash  did  not  lure  a 
glance  from  Philip.  A  sleek  otter  slipped  silently  into  the 
pool  from  the  bank  above.  A  baby  fox  crept  from  the 
thicket  into  a  sunny  circle  among  some  ferns,  cocking  his 
enormous  ears  and  peering  cunningly  across.  He  played 
boldly  in  the  sunshine  until  Philip  took  a  step  forward,  then 
he  came  down  on  all  fours  barking  impudent  defiance. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Jeanne,  raising  her  face  from 
Philip's  shoulder. 

"  Nothing,  my  darling,  only  a  fox  cub." 

Presently  the  fox,  tired  of  barking,  curled  up,  tucked  his 
brush  under  his  flank,  yawned,  and  blinked  at  them  with 
glittering,  malicious  eyes. 

Through  the  tree  tops  the  sunshine  glimmered  like 
powdered  gold.     Far  in  the  forest  depths  some  lost  sunbeam 


260  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

sparkled  and  paled  as  the  branches  swayed  in  the  breeze.  A 
grey  hawk  darted  through  the  labyrinth  of  trees,  and  his  long 
wings  flashed  as  he  wheeled  and  hung  breathless  above  the 
baby  fox.  The  cub  leered  up  at  the  bird  and  snarled,  the 
hawk  sailed  away  over  the  tree  tops  uttering  a  desolate  cry. 
Then,  as  Philip  raised  his  head  to  look  after  him,  a  sudden 
shadow,  vast  and  grey,  enveloped  them.  They  started  up, — 
a  balloon  was  gliding  through  the  air  just  above  the  tree  tops. 
At  the  same  instant  a  voice  came  from  the  wicker  car,  clear 
and  distinct  :  "  Let  go  that  sand  bag,  we've  got  to  rise  ;  this 
wood  is  deserted  ; — ready — heave  !  " 

A  torrent  of  sand  came  rushing  earthward  through  the 
leaves.     The  fox  cub  fled.     Jeanne  caught  Philip's  arm. 

"  Signal  General  de  Gallifet  to  attack,  Lieutenant,"  came 
the  voice  from  the  sky,  more  faintly  now. 

"  Bien,  mon  Colonel." 

"  Ready  with  another  sack, — heave  !  "  Again  the 
descending  rush  of  sand  tore  through  the  branches. 

"  Signal  Clamart  when  we  get  higher." 

"  Bien,  mon  Colonel." 

The  words  grew  fainter  and  fainter  until  the  voices  died 
away  in  the  sky  and  the  balloon  rose  higher,  higher,  while  the 
sun  glinted  on  the  pale  yellow  silk,  and  struck  showers  of 
sparks  from  the  flashing  heliograph. 

"  We  had  better  go,"  said  Philip,  quietly, — "  that  is  a 
Versailles  balloon,  and  they  are  signalling  to  attack." 

"  I  suppose  if  you  had  hailed  it  they  would  have  fired  at 
us  without  inquiry,"  said  Jeanne,  anxiously. 

"  Yes — our  uniforms — and  they  shoot  first  under  such 
circumstances." 

She  sighed  and  drew  his  arm  about  her  waist,  but  before 
she  could  speak,  the  distant  bang  !  bang  !  bang  !  of  cavalry 
carbines  sent  Philip  leaping  to  the  edge  of  the  woods. 

"  Oh,  look,"  cried  Jeanne,  "  they  are  shooting  up  at  the 
balloon  !  " 

It  was  true.  A  dozen  cavalrymen  were  capering  about  on 
the  road  below  in  great  exci  tement.  Now  and  then  they  drew 
bridle  and  fired  from  their  saddles  at  the  balloon  above,  then 
dug  spurs  into  their  horses  and  galloped  madly  after  it.  The 
balloon  moved  slowly  toward  the  west,  the  car  was  too 
indistinct  now  to  distinguish  flags  or  figures,  but  high  in  the 
clouds   the   heliograph   sparkled   and   flashed  its   messages 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  26 1 

across  the  country  to  Clamart  and  Meudon  and  the  heights 
of  Versailles. 

"  What  is  that — oh  !  see  there,  Philip  !  "  she  cried  again. 

"Where?     What?" 

"  There — by  our  house — don't  you  see  ?  Away  off  there 
near  that  queer  red  square  on  the  hillside." 

"  That  queer  red  square  on  the  hillside  is  a  regiment  of 
infantry  of  the  Line,"  he  said  quietly  ;  "  and  what  you  see 
beyond  them,  near  our  house,  is  the  sunlight  striking  the 
cannon  of  a  field  battery.  See  how  they  move  now.  They 
must  be  close  to  our  house.  Look  !  The  cavalrymen  have 
given  up  chasing  the  balloon.  I  believe  they  have  just 
discovered  the  Versailles  infantry — yes — there  they  go  to 
warn  their  main  body  !  " 

"  Then — then  we  can't  go  home,  can  we  ?  "  said  Jeanne, 
faintly. 

"  No,  indeed, — we're  homeless  again,  my  darling, — unless 
the  Federals  are  in  force  in  this  vicinity,  which  I  don't  believe. 
If  we  hadn't  come  fishing,  we  would  have  been  taken  by  the 
Versailles  scouts." 

"And  shot?  " 

"Not  you,  I  trust." 

"  It  would  be  the  same,"  she  replied  indifferently,  "  I 
shall  die  when  you  do." 

A  nearer  crackle  of  musketry  sounded  from  a  patch  of 
woods  below. 

"  Hello,"  cried  Philip,  "  the  Federals  are  here  after  all. 
That  was  the  pickets  ; — now  they  are  firing  by  company, — 
Hark  !  See  the  white  cloud  on  the  hill  back  of  our  house  ! 
The  battery  is  shelling  the  grove.  That  shell  fell  perfectly  ; 
■ — it  must  have  exploded  among  the  battalions." 

"  They  are  going  to  turn  our  paradise  into  a  battlefield," 
said  Jeanne,  desperately  ;    "  oh,  do  you  think  they  will  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so,"  he  said,  drawing  her  closer. 

For  now,  from  the  battery  on  the  distant  hill,  the  pale 
flames  leaped  incessantly,  and  the  insurgent  infantry  in  the 
wood  below  poured  out  of  cover  in  disorder,  scattering  in 
every  direction.  Then  other  batteries,  masked  among  the 
groves  and  thickets  of  the  circling  hillsides,  burst  into  smoke 
and  flame  :  everywhere  reddish-brown  squares  and  oblongs 
blotted  plains  and  hillsides,  and  bayonet-tips  sparkled  in  the 
sunlight. 


262  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Crash  !  ripple — crash  !  came  the  volleys  on  every  side. 
Like  rats  scuttling  from  a  settling  hulk  the  Federals  tumbled 
out  of  the  undergrowth  and  made  tracks  for  the  denser 
cover  of  the  forest. 

"  They  are  coming  here,"  said  Philip,  "  we  can't  stay  any 
longer." 

"  But  where  can  we  go  ?  '    asked  Jeanne. 

"  To  Paris — we  have  no  choice.  The  whole  Versailles 
army  is  on  the  move.  Oh,  if  we  could  only  get  rid  of  these 
uniforms  !  " 

"  Look  !  Look  !  Philip  !  "  cried  Jeanne,  catching  him  by 
the  arm  and  pointing  at  a  little  footbridge  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  below  them. 

"  I  see,"  he  muttered,  "  the  Federals  will  be  cut  to  pieces  ; 
— it  is  a  flank  movement." 

For  a  moment  they  watched  a  dense  column  of  red-legged 
infantry  crowding  at  double  quick  across  the  little  bridge, 
then  Philip  turned  away  with  an  irresolute  gesture. 

"  It  would  mean  safety  for  you,  if  you  were  not  wearing 
this  cursed  uniform.  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  listen  to  you 
when  you  wanted  to  wear  your  own  clothes  !  " 

"  It  would  have  made  no  difference,"  she  said,  "  you  would 
not  have  been  able  to  go  with  me." 

"  Your  safety  is  the  first  thing,"  he  said,  almost  roughly. 
"  Look  down  there  ;  see  how  near  they  are  !  What  a  fool 
I  was  !  " 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his  and  smiled. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  take  me  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  It's  time,"  he  cried,  "  ah,  if  you  were  only  safe " 

A  half -suppressed  scream  from  Jeanne  checked  him. 
Through  the  trees,  over  the  soft  thick  moss,  a  file  of  horsemen 
were  advancing  in  perfect  silence.  Towering  above  his 
skeleton  horse,  wrapped  in  the  awful  emblems  of  death,  the 
leader  of  the  cavalcade  moved  noiselessly  toward  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  and  after  him  swarmed  his  hideous  legion,  gaunt, 
pallid,  shrouded  in  crepe.  Grimly,  above  his  horse's  rusty 
mane,  the  leader  stooped  and  pointed.  His  sunken  eyes 
glittered.  Then  came  the  sharp  hiss  of  sabres  leaping  from 
steel  scabbards,  the  hoarse  croak  of  command,  and  the 
Hussars  of  Death  wheeled  and  fell  upon  the  enemy. 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  moaned  Jeanne,  covering  her  eyes,  for  the 
spectacle  at  the  footbridge  was  terrible.     Fascinated  by  the 


A     VOICE    FROM    THE    CLOUDS  263 

horror  of  the  swift  butchery  on  the  bridge,  Philip  had  stepped 
out  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  but  Jeanne's  cry  roused  him 
and  he  cast  a  quick  glance  around.  Already  the  red-capped 
sharp-shooters  were  creeping  in  their  direction,  while  from 
the  meadow  below  the  frightened  insurgents  clambered  up 
the  hill  and  fled  through  the  woods  toward  Paris. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  and  seized  her  hand,  and  they  started, 
running  after  the  rest. 

It  was  a  long  dash  through  the  woods,  but  she  kept  up 
bravely,  her  hand  clasped  tightly  in  his.  When  her  breath 
came  in  little  gasps  and  her  limbs  faltered,  he  would  slacken 
the  pace  and  walk  until  she  signalled  silently  that  she  was 
ready  again.  Once  a  prowling  Versailles  sharp-shooter  took  a 
snap  shot  at  a  Federalist  who  was  running  just  ahead  of 
them,  and  the  fellow  dropped,  cursing,  with  a  bullet  in  his 
ankle,  but  the  sharp-shooter  was  instantly  enveloped  by  a 
swarm  of  fugitives  who  fell  on  him,  snarling  like  wildcats,  and 
literally  tore  him  to  pieces  among  the  underbrush. 

Twice  Jeanne  stopped  to  quench  her  thirst  at  some  of  the 
rills  that  crossed  their  path,  and  little  by  little  the  flying 
Federals  passed  them,  until  they  were  left  entirely  alone  on 
the  farther  edge  of  the  forest.  And  here  Jeanne  sank  down, 
panting  and  tearful,  and  Philip  knelt  beside  her,  taking  her 
hands  in  his. 

"  I — I  can't  go  on  !  "  she  gasped. 

"  You  must — don't  hurry — but  you  must." 

"  I  cannot,"  she  sighed, — "  my  heart  seems  to  suffocate 
me  !  " 

He  walked  swiftly  to  the  edge  of  the  fringe  of  trees  and 
then  hurried  back  again.  "  Courage,  my  darling.  We  are 
close  to  the  ramparts  of  Paris.  Only  one  more  effort  and 
we  are  safe,"  he  whispered. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  held  out  both  her  arms.  '  Lift 
me,"  she  said,  "  I  will  try." 

He  stooped  and  raised  her  and  she  clung  about  his  neck, 
smiling  through  her  tears.  And  as  he  stood  for  a  moment, 
holding  her  in  his  arms,  a  man  came  creeping  through  the 
thicket  before  him.  He  sprang  back,  and  Jeanne  slipped  to 
her  feet,  but  other  men  jumped  on  him  from  the  bushes  and 
struck  him  savagely,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  rolling,  stunned 
and  bleeding,  among  the  dead  leaves.  Jeanne,  pale  and 
silent,  struggled  between  two  marines  of  the  Commune,  but 

s 


264  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

one  of  the  men  drew  his  sword  and  pressing  the  point  against 
her  braided  jacket,  sternly  bade  her  be  quiet.  Then  Philip 
opened  his  eyes,  gasped,  stared,  and  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"  Ah  !  "  sneered  Weser,  "  a  spy  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Commune  !  Very  funny — oh,  very  funny — but  what's 
coming  is  funnier  yet  !  "  Then  turning  to  a  corporal  beside 
him  :  "  take  that  man  to  La  Roquette — and  take  that  pink 
and  white  putty-faced  young  fool  there  along  with  him.  He 
looks  like  a  snivelling  woman.  I'll  give  him  something  to 
snivel  for.  Where's  my  horse  ?  Tell  my  aide-de-camp  to 
notify  Rigault  that  the  fellow  Landes  is  caught,  and  is  safe 
in  La  Roquette, — and  tell  him  to  send  the  reward  to  me  at 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  By  the  way,  you  needn't  say  anything  to 
Colonel  Tribert, — I'll  speak  to  him  myself.  If  the  prisoners 
are  unruly,  smash  their  skulls  in.     March  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

Weser  Bids  Tribert  Good-Night 

When  the  last  of  the  Paris  Turcos,  Pagot's  company,  were 
exterminated  at  the  fort  of  Issy,  Tribert  notified  Colonel 
Rossel  that  the  barricade  on  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  was  empty 
and  undefended.  Colonel  Rossel,  a  soldier  to  his  finger-tips, 
and  a  brave  man,  was  busily  occupied  in  trying  to  retake  the 
Issy  trenches  when  Tribert's  despatch  arrived,  but  he  found 
time  to  send  a  message  to  Dombrowski,  urging  the  immediate 
direction  of  a  battalion  to  the  Rue  Notre-Dame,  and  explain- 
ing how  important  that  barricade  was,  covering  as  it  did  the 
approach  to  the  Gare  Montparnasse  and  the  Luxembourg.  So 
Dombrowski  twisted  his  grey  moustache,  scowled,  glared  at 
Bcrgeret's  reserves,  who  were  filling  ten  thousand  sacks  with 
earth  (all  they  were  good  for),  and  finally  galloped  to  the 
H6tel  de  Ville,  where  Tribert  received  him  in  fear  and 
trembling. 

"  I  want  a  battalion,"  said  Dombrowski  ;  "  a  good  one — 
none  of  the  Bergeret  kind." 

Weser,  who  was  sealing  orders  for  Tribert,  chuckled  to 
himself.  '  Tribert's  got  to  go,  the  lazy  rat,"  he  thought  ; 
"  how  he  will  hate  to  leave  this  sunny,  comfortable  bureau  ! ' 


WESER    BIDS    TRIBERT    GOOD-NIGHT  265 

"  There  is  the  Marine  battalion,"  began  Tribert,  smoothly, 
but  was  rudely  interrupted. 

"  D — n  the  Marine  battalion  !  "  said  General  Dombrowski  ; 
'  they  arc  a  lot  of  drunken  footpads.  What  I  want  is  a  tried 
battalion, — franc  or  guard,  I  don't  care  which  !  Have  you 
any  such  ? 

"  No,"  said  Tribert,  sullenly. 

"  Then  you've  got  to  take  command  of  your  '  Avengers  ' — 
I  can't  help  it  if  they  are  not  formed  yet — they  are  the  flower 
of  the  veterans,  and  the  only  franc  corps  worth  their  salt, 
now  that  the  Turcos  are  gone.  I  wish  Colonel  Sarre  was 
alive  !  " 

"  Thank  God,  he's  dead, — the  feather-headed  fool  !  " 
thought  Weser. 

"  Alas,"  said  Tribert,  with  a  wily  glance  at  Weser  ;  "  it  is 
true  that  Colonel  Sarre  is  dead,  but  there  still  remains  one  of 
the  bravest  of  his  captains, — a  cool,  prudent  fellow,  but  a 
fiend  incarnate  in  battle.  His  courage  has  been  put  to  proof 
at  Meudon  and  Issy,  and  yet  to-day  this  loyal  son  of  the 
Republic  is  but  a  simple  captain,  asking  nothing,  claiming 
nothing,  only  seeking  to  do  his  duty.  You  ask  me,  General 
Dombrowski,  who  this  modest  hero  is  ?  And  I  reply,  he  is 
my  dear  comrade,  my  friend  and  more  than  brother, — the 
last  of  the  Turcos, — Isidore  Weser  !  " 

Weser,  whose  expression  had  changed  slowly  for  the  worse 
while  Tribert  was  snivelling  his  eulogy,  lairly  bounded  from 
his  chair  when  his  name  was  pronounced,  but  Tribert  gave 
him  no  time  to  protest. 

"  General,"  he  pleaded,  "  I  ask  that  this  gallant  man  be 
rewarded.  He  has  merited  well  of  the  Republic.  Give  him 
this  coveted  honour,  the  command  of  the  '  Avengers.'  Proud 
as  I  would  be,  happy  as  you  make  me  when  you  ask  me  to 
command  the  battalion  which  I  have  formed,  I  would  be  still 
prouder  and  happier  if  I  could  see  my  dear  brother  and  com- 
rade leading  the  '  Avengers  '  into  battle  !  " 

"  Stop  !  "  gasped  Weser,  in  a  cold  perspiration.  "  I — I 
don't  wish  to — I  don't  deserve  this — this  honour  !  " 

"You  do!  Isidore,  you  do !  "  cried  Tribert,  enthusiastically. 

"  I  don't  !  "  snarled  Weser,  and  darted  a  terrible  glance  at 
Tribert.  Tribert  continued  to  eulogize  him,  smiling  blandly 
at  the  white  malignancy  of  his  face,  and  finally  the  brave  old 
General  interposed. 


266  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  You  are  too  modest,  Citizen  Weser,"  he  said,  for,  being 
brave  himself,  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  suspect  cowardice 
in  others  ;  "  you  are  too  modest  even  for  a  brave  man.  You 
have  waited  patiently  for  recognition.  You  shall  have  it.  I 
give  you  command  of  the  '  Avengers.'  Be  worthy  of  them 
as  they  will  be  worthy  of  you.  It  is  ten  o'clock.  By  twelve 
you  will  have  your  commission.  Join  your  battalion  at  once 
and  occupy  the  barricade  in  the  Rue  Notre-Dame."  Then, 
returning  Tribert's  prompt  salute,  Dombrowski  walked  away 
to  find  Delescluze  and  Ferre,  and  if  possible  to  drag  those 
bloodhounds  away  from  Rossel's  trail. 

For  a  moment  Weser  and  Tribert  eyed  each  other  in  silence. 
Weser's  face  was  green  with  suppressed  fury,  but  Tribert, 
after  a  minute,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  to  his  desk. 

"  You  have  played  me  a  dirty  trick  !  "  said  Weser,  in  a 
passionless  voice,  but  his  eyes  were  deadly. 

"  Silence  !  "  roared  Tribert ;  "do  you  know  whom  you 
address  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Weser. 

"  I  am  your  superior  officer — remember  that  !  "  sneered 
Tribert.  Then  he  began  to  laugh.  "You're  trapped  this 
time,  Izzy,  sure  as  guns  are  guns  !  " 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  go,"  said  Weser. 

Tribert  burst  into  shrieks  of  laughter. 

"  Of  course  you  are  !  Why,  I  can  see  martial  ardour 
burning  in  your  eyes  !  How  you  must  long  to  bare  your 
breast  to  the  Versaillist  bayonets  !  Bayonets  hurt.  How 
you  must  yearn  for  the  bursting  shells  !  Bullets  hurt,  too, 
Izzy, — but  what  is  a  leg,  an  arm,  an  eye,  a  face  torn  to  pieces 
— what  is  a  human  life  when  one  can  give  it  for  the  glory  and 
— oh,  dear  me  !  ha  !  ha  ! — the  glory  and  honour — yes, 
honour,  Izzy, — of  the  Commune  ?  " 

"  May  the  God  of  Israel  curse  you  !  "  said  Weser,  slowly. 
His  eyes  were  burning  in  his  distorted  face,  and  he  stretched 
out  his  arms  in  an  agony  of  fear  and  hate.  Then  he  went  out 
of  the  room,  and  far  down  the  street  Tribert  heard  his  sabre 
clanging  on  the  stony  pavement. 

So  Tribert  was  left  alone  to  laugh  his  fill — and  curse  a  little, 
too,  for  there  was  something  in  Weser's  voice  and  face  that 
troubled  him  more  than  he  cared  to  acknowledge.  He  was 
glad  his  bureau  was  public  property.  Officers  of  every  grade, 
in  gorgeous  uniforms,  passed  and  repassed,  and  all  were  dis- 


WESER    BIDS    TRIBERT    GOOD-NIGHT  267 

cussing  the  same  thing, — the  latest  issue  of  the  Official 
Journal  of  the  Commune,  or  the  "  Official,"  as  it  was  called. 
In  it  were  the  full  reports  of  the  trial  and  sentence  of  Cluseret 
before  the  Commune.  The  Commune  had  been  in  session 
that  morning,  and  measures  of  urgency  were  voted  at  Rossel's 
request.  Day  after  day  Rigault,  Delescluze,  Billioray,  and 
Ferre  had  urged  their  bloody  measures,  and  most  of  them  had 
been  passed.  The  death  penalty,  swift,  merciless  sentences 
for  civil  and  military  offences,  the  law  of  denunciations  and 
midnight  visits  to  suspected  houses,  the  compulsory  service 
with  the  National  Guard, — all  these  measures  had  been 
passed,  and  were  now  laws  in  full  operation.  And  still 
Rigault  demanded  more  power,  more  plunder,  more  blood  ; 
and  the  Commune  trembled  before  him. 

Perhaps  Tribert  was  thinking  of  Rigault,  perhaps  of  some 
other  unpleasant  subject,  for  he  started  violently  when  a 
small,  near-sighted  man  sat  down  beside  him  without  cere- 
mony, and,  drawing  a  pair  of  glasses  from  his  silver-slashed 
jacket,  adjusted  them  and  smiled.     It  was  Rigault. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  Colonel  Tribert,"  he  said,  noticing  the 
other's  involuntary  start  ;  "  I  want  to  chat  with  you  a  bit. 
I've  just  come  from  the  seance  of  the  Commune.  They  are 
beginning  to  suspect  Dombrowski  now.  Hey  !  The  dance 
goes  on,  and  my  prisons  are  getting  too  full.  I  must  shoot  a 
few  people  to  make  room.  I've  just  convinced  the  Com- 
mune that  there  are  twenty  or  thirty  gendarmes  who  are  of 
no  use  to  the  world.  They're  sentenced,  and  by  this  time 
are  filing  out  to  be  shot.  I'm  sorry  to  miss  it,  too,  for  there 
are  a  dozen  cowardly  National  Guards  among  the  batch  who 
hate  to  die.     Where  is  your  friend  Weser  ?  " 

'  He  is  detailed  to  command  the  '  Avengers,'  "  replied 
Tribert,  with  a  sickly  smile. 

"  Ah — um — I  see.  So  you  escaped  and  he  was  caught, 
eh  ?  He's  a  coward — but  you  are  not — at  least,  not  that 
kind  of  coward.  You  merely  love  comfort  and  good  food. 
Who  detailed  him  ?  " 

"  Dombrowski." 

"Dombrowski  is  suspected,"  said  Rigault,  coldly;  then, 
"  if  I  could  shoot  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  the  Commune,  it 
would  leave  traitors  enough  and  to  spare.  They  say — I 
know  they  say  that  I  am  crazy, — that  I  am  blood-drunk,  but 
I  know  who  the  traitors  are  !     Do  you  suppose  that  a  single 


268  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

whispered  word  escapes  my  spies  ?  Do  you  suppose  a  single 
traitorous  heart-beat  is  not  noted  in  my  '  Book  of  the  Con- 
demned '  ?     I  bide  my  time." 

Tribert  stared  at  him,  mouth  ajar. 

'  I  came  to  speak  about  the  American,  Philip  Landes," 
said  Rigault,  "  do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"No,"  gasped  Tribert. 

"  I  do,"  said  Rigault. 

"  You — you  have  caught  him  !  " 

"  Yes.  Your  friend  Weser  caught  him.  He  wants  the 
reward  now." 

"  Where  is — where  is  this  American  ?  " 

"  In  La  Roquette.  I  am  very  much  pleased.  I  shall  not 
shoot  him." 

"  Not  shoot  him  !  "  blurted  out  Tribert. 

"  No — I  shall  have  him  strangled — slowly."  They  sat 
silent  for  a  while,  then  Rigault  spoke  again :  "  Your  face 
will  always  bear  his  marks." 

Tribert  ground  his  teeth. 

'  I  have  also  my  little  account  to  settle  with  Monsieur 
Landes,"  continued  Rigault,  with  a  meditative  glance  at 
Tribert's  disfigured  face. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?  "  demanded  Tribert,  after 
a  moment. 

"Do  what?  " 

"  Strangle  him." 

"  Oh,  really,  I  don't  know.  I  want  to  take  my  time, — 
I  wish  to  give  my  personal  attention  to  it.  The  young  man 
really  merits  it.  I  am  going  to  shoot  a  lot  of  gendarmes  and 
priests  first,  to  clear  out  the  prisons.  Then  I'm  going  to 
shoot  the  priest  Darboy." 

"  The  Archbishop  ?  " 

"  That's  what  he  calls  himself.  After  him  there  are  a  lot 
of  others.  It  won't  be  very  amusing.  I  am  saving  the 
American  as  one  saves  a  good  morsel.  Would  you  like  to  be 
present  at  the  interview  ?  " 

Tribert  nodded. 

"  I  will  let  you  know  in  time.  I  shall  torture  him,"  con- 
tinued Raoul  Rigault.  "  Have  you  heard  any  news  of  the 
de  Brassac  hussy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tribert,  "  it's  a  wonder  they  were  not  trapped 
together.     Was  he  alone  ?  ' 


WESER    BIDS    TRIBERT    GOOD-NIGHT  269 

"  No — he  had  another  young  fellow  with  him  ; — both  were 
masquerading  in  our  uniform.  But  Weser  saw  no  traces  of 
the  de  Brassac  wench. 

"  How  did  Weser  stumble  on  Landes  ?  "  enquired  Tribert, 
curiously. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  you  sent  him  to  Dombrowski 
with  Bergeret's  despatch,  the  day  that  the  Versaillists  out- 
flanked La  Cecilia  and  knocked  Moulin-Saquet  and  the 
Montrouge  fort  to  pieces  ?  Well,  this  fox,  Weser,  also  went 
on  a  little  errand  of  mine  at  the  same  time,  and  that  errand 
was  to  arrest  Colonel  Wilton  of  the  266th,  who  is  in  my  eyes 
a  suspect.  He  got  him  and  packed  him  off  to  La  Roquette, 
and,  coming  back  with  his  marine  escort,  he  had  the  luck, — 
the  pure  luck,  to  stumble  on  a  fugitive — a  private  in  your  old 
battalion,  the  265th,  named  Martin.  This  man  Martin  was 
the  fellow  who  was  on  guard  at  the  Impasse  de  la  Mort  when 
Landes  got  in  and  carried  away  the  de  Brassac  girl.  Well, 
Martin  had  seen  and  recognized  Landes,  although  the  Ameri- 
can cur  wore  our  uniform  ;  so  Martin,  remembering  the 
reward,  and  also  having  an  old  score  to  settle,  followed  the 
American  and  his  brother  spy,  and  when  he  saw  Weser  and 
his  marines,  he  denounced  Landes,  and  led  Weser  to 
where  he  stood.  That  is  the  whole  story.  Simple,  isn't 
it?" 

'  Yes.     Does  Martin  get  any  of  the  money  ?  ' 
'  Half.     Here  is  Weser 's  share."     Rigault  flung  a  bag  of 
gold  coins  on  to  Tribert's  desk. 

"  Weser 's  gone,"  said  Tribert. 

"  He'll  be  back.  See  that  he  gets  his  money.  Money's 
cheap  now.  There  is  plenty  in  the  Bank  of  France."  Then 
he  rose,  adjusted  his  sword,  mopped  his- chin  with  a  scented 
embroidered  handkerchief,  and  walked  out. 

Tribert  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  bag 
of  gold.  He  had  sat  there  for  an  hour,  scarcely  moving, 
never  taking  his  eyes  from  the  bag,  when  a  light  step  sounded 
behind  him,  and  Weser  reappeared  in  the  uniform  of  a 
Colonel  of  the  National  Guard.  Tribert  looked  at  him, 
expecting  another  outbreak,  but  Weser  smiled,  and  motioned 
him  to  rise. 

'  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  he  said  pleasantly  ; 
"  come  into  the  secret  office.     Have  you  got  the  keys  ?  ' 

Tribert,  a  little  surprised,  but  willing  to  escape  another 


270  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

wrangle  with  the  man  who  was  now  his  equal  in  rank,  fumbled 
in  his  pocket  for  the  keys,  and  produced  them.  "  I've  got 
something  to  say  to  you  also,"  he  said,  picking  up  the  bag  of 
gold,  and  balancing  it  in  his  hand  ;  "  come  on,  Izzy."  Weser 
followed  him  down  the  broad  staircase,  through  a  series  of 
gloomy  corridors,  and  then  down  another  staircase  to  a 
landing,  closed  at  the  end  by  a  massive  door.  Here  he 
fumbled  with  his  keys  for  a  while,  but  at  last  the  heavy  door 
swung  open,  and  they  entered  the  secret  office. 

"  Whew  !  "  grumbled  Tribcrt  ;  "  that  door  is  heavy  !  " 

"  How  thick  are  the  walls  ?  "  asked  Weser. 

"  Thick  enough  to  deaden  the  screams  of  the  damned. 
Nobody  can  hear  us  now.     Sit  down." 

The  room  contained  a  table  and  a  dozen  chairs.  In  the 
corner  stood  a  sink.  Two  quaintly-wrought  faucets  dripped 
water  into  the  iron  basin,  and  the  constant  drop  !  drop  ! 
drop  !  irritated  Tribert.  He  tried  to  turn  the  faucets 
entirely  around,  but  they  stuck  fast,  and  the  water  con- 
tinued dripping  with  solemn  regularity. 

Weser  had  closed  and  bolted  the  door,  and  now  sat  before 
the  iron  table,  his  pointed  ferret-like  face  in  his  hands,  his 
black  eyes  roaming  restlessly  about  the  room. 

"  I  have  never  before  been  here,"  he  said  ;  "  what  is  that 
ring  in  the  floor  for  ?  " 

"  That  iron  ring  ?     Oh,  it  lifts  a  slab  of  stone." 

"  What's  there  ?  " 

"  Down  there  ?     The  river." 

"Under  the  floor  here?" 

"  Yes.     D — n  this  faucet ;    I  can't  turn  it.     What  do  you 
want  to  see  me  about,   Izzy  ?  "     He  came  and  sat  down 
opposite  Weser,  and  lighted  a  cigar.     "  What  do  you  want  ?  ' 
he  repeated. 

' '  I  want  to  know  what  you  honestly  think  of  the  chances 
of  the  Commune, — for  one  thing." 

"  Well,  Izzy,  as  we  are  alone,  and  no  witnesses  at  the  key- 
hole, I  can  safely  say  that  the  jig  is  up." 

"You  think  so?  " 

"  I'm  sure.  Only  a  compromise  with  Thiers  can  save 
our  necks." 

"Why?  " 

"  Why  ?  Look  at  the  Issy  fort  !  Look  at  the  viaduct  of 
the  Point-du-Jour  !     Look  how  they  sank  our  gun-boats  ! 


WESER  bids  tribfrt  good-night  271 

Look  at  the  forts  of  Montrouge,  the  battery  of  Moulin-Saquet, 
bastion  number  seventy  !  Do  you  know  the  Versaillists  are 
running  their  parallels  within  a  few  metres  of  the  enceinte  ? 
They  are  already  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

"  So  are  we — in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

"  Yes,  and  we  are  quitting  it  in  a  hurry,  too.  The  shells 
are  falling  all  about  the  Arc-de-Triomphe,  the  shells  are 
digging  holes  in  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  Our  only  hope 
is  behind  the  barricades." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Then  ?  Then,  if  they  take  the  barricades,  we  can  burn 
the  city,  blow  up  everything  behind  us,  and  run  for  the 
German  lines.  The  Prussians  are  neutral.  Is  that  all  you 
wanted  of  me  ?  " 

"  All — for  the  present.     What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  ' 

"  Nothing — a   trifle.     I    hear   you   have   been   earning   a 
reward."     Weser   raised    his   eyebrows.     "  A   fat   reward," 
continued  Tribert,  "  in  the  service  of  Raoul  Rigault." 
\  es. 

"  You  never  told  me,  Izzy." 

"What  of  it?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  might  have  shared  the  reward  with  you, 
if  you  had." 

"  The  reward  is  mine.     Where  is  the  money  ?  "  said  Weser. 

"  In  my  pocket,  Izzy.  Half  of  the  reward  went  to  Martin, 
half  I  keep." 

"  It's  mine,"  said  Weser,  in  a  low  voice. 

"But  you  will  give  it  to  me,"  sneered  Tribert,  "won't 
you,  Izzy?  " 

"  Give  me  the  money,"  said  Weser  again. 

"  I'm  sure  you'll  give  it  to  me,  unless  you  care  to  have  it 
known  that  Pagot  died  with  a  knife  in  his  back,"  grinned 
Tribert. 

For  a  moment  Weser 's  face  was  awful  to  see.  Then  a 
ghastly  smile  stretched  his  mouth.  "  Oh,  if  you  put  it  in 
that  way,  I  suppose  I  must  not  find  fault,"  he  said,  with  the 
slightest  quaver  in  his  voice.  "  You  can  keep  the  money." 
Tribert  grinned  again. 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  rising  and  walking  toward  the  door. 
"  Are  you  coming,  Izzy  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  No  ?     Well,  good-bye  then." 


272  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

He   bowed  ironically,    and   touched   his    cap   in   salute. 
"Good-night,  Colonel  Weser." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Weser,  and  shot  him  through  the  back. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

Husband  and  Wife 

The  crash  of  the  revolver  in  the  stone  room  set  Weser's  ears 
tingling,  the  pungent  powder  vapours  stung  his  eyes  and 
choked  him.  Little  by  little  the  smoke  floated  to  the  black 
ceiling,  where  it  wavered  in  broad  bands,  drifting  and  settling 
like  filmy  cobwebs.  Through  the  silence  of  the  sealed 
chamber  the  water  in  the  sink  dripped,  dripped,  dripped,  until 
the  sound  seemed  to  grow  like  rain  increasing  with  the  wind. 
His  whitened  fingers  still  clutched  the  revolver,  but  now  his 
wrist  began  to  ache,  and  he  laid  the  weapon  on  the  table 
softly.  His  eyes  had  never  left  the  bleeding,  dusty  heap 
before  the  door,  and  presently  he  rose  and  bent  above  it. 
Then  he  rolled  it  over  with  his  foot.  Death  was  stamped  on 
the  loose  face  and  glazing  eyes. 

When  he  had  searched  the  body, — a  task  which  he  hated, 
for  Weser  disliked  to  touch  the  dead, — he  dragged  what  had 
once  been  his  comrade  to  the  square  slab  in  the  floor  and 
seizing  the  iron  ring,  lifted  the  slab.  From  the  black  depths 
a  foul  odour  crept.  It  nauseated  him,  and  he  seized  the 
corpse  by  the  feet  and  pushed  it  head-foremost  into  the  hole. 
Then  he  turned  on  the  water  in  the  sink,  mopped  up  the  lake 
of  bright-red  blood  with  the  table  covering,  and  flung  it 
into  the  hole. 

When  he  had  washed  his  hands  and  replaced  the  slab  in 
the  stone  floor,  he  counted  the  twenty-franc  pieces  in  the  bag, 
carefully  arranging  them  in  piles  of  ten  each.  Several  were 
badly  defaced,  and  he  rubbed  his  thumb-nail  over  them, 
whistling  under  his  breath.  Then  he  examined  the  plunder 
taken  from  Tribert's  pockets.  In  one  pile  he  placed  a  hand- 
some American  watch,  a  gold  pencil-case,  a  silver-handled 
knife,  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  a  gold-rimmed  wallet  stuffed  with 
twenty-franc  pieces.     A  handful  of  silver  coins  he  dropped 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  2J 


i 


into  his  own  pocket,  and  then  sat  down  to  read  the  letters  and 
papers  ;  but  they  were  unpleasantly  smeared  with  blood, 
and  he  finally  took  them,  together  with  a  revolver,  a  sabre,  a 
bundle  of  order  blanks,  and  a  tobacco  pouch  stuffed  with 
cigarette  materials,  and  dropped  them  into  the  hole.  For  a 
moment  he  stooped,  listening  to  the  faint  clash  of  the  sabre 
as  it  struck  the  sides  of  the  well,  then  the  odour  of  death  and 
decay  sickened  him,  and  he  once  more  replaced  the  iron- 
ringed  slab.  When  he  had  washed  his  hands  again,  and  had 
pocketed  the  plunder  from  Tribert's  corpse,  he  was  ready  to 
go  ;  and  he  went,  humming  a  tune. 

At  the  street  gate  below  he  halted  a  moment.  Somewhere 
in  the  city,  across  the  Seine,  the  drums  were  beating  the 
alarm,  and  the  tocsin  added  its  clamour  to  the  rising  tumult. 
His  battalion,  the  "  Avengers,"  lay  behind  the  barricades 
across  the  river.  Should  he  join  it  ?  For  a  moment  he 
hesitated,  then  turned  in  the  opposite  direction,  walking 
swiftly,  holding  his  sabre  tightly  under  his  left  arm. 

The  day  was  Sunday,  the  21st  of  May,  or,  as  the  Commune 
styled  it,  "  3rd  Prairial  of  the  year  79."  It  was  late  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  fury  of  the  bombardment  had  slackened 
toward  the  Point-du-Jour,  now  merely  a  heap  of  smoking 
ruins  ;  for  the  Versaillist  batteries  had  riddled  the  viaduct, 
driven  away  or  sunk  the  gun-boats  under  its  arches,  and  had 
cleared  the  neighbouring  bastions  of  men  and  cannon.  The 
fort  of  Montrouge  and  the  batteries  at  Moulin-Saquet  still 
replied  to  the  Versailles  batteries,  or  flung  their  shells  among 
the  thickets  of  the  Bois-de-Boulogne  :  and  Delescluze,  now 
"  delegue  civil  a  la  guerre,"  was  very  well  satisfied  with  his 
inspection  of  these  forts,  and  the  enceinte  of  the  south  and 
east. 

The  Rue  Notre-Dame  had  so  far  escaped  the  shells,  but  on 
the  21st  of  May,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  a  huge 
projectile  appeared  in  the  sky  above  Pont  Neuf.  Shrieking, 
hissing,  it  fell  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens,  and  exploded 
among  a  group  of  children  and  nurse-maids.  Then  horror 
multiplied  on  horror  ;  the  air  was  rent  by  howling  shells,  and 
the  crash  of  explosions  drowned  the  shrieks  of  innocent 
women  and  children. 

The  "  Avengers  "  massed  behind  the  barricade  on  the  Rue 
Notre-Dame  heard  the  tumult  and  waited  impatiently  for 
their  new  Colonel,  Weser. 


274  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  The  shells  will  be  falling  among  us  before  long,"  they 
growled  ;  "  we  won't  stay  here  to  be  decimated  without 
firing  a  shot." 

"  Wo  want  our  Colonel  !  "  clamoured  the  officers,  angrily, 
as  a  shell  struck  a  house  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rue  Vavin  and 
exploded  with  a  startling  "  bang-g-g  !  " 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  your  Colonel  is  a  coward,"  observed 
a  man  wearing  a  red  ribbon  across  his  breast. 

"That's  it!  A  coward!  A  coward!'  shouted  the 
soldiers,  lifting  their  rifles  above  their  heads  and  shaking 
them  with  rage.  "  Give  us  a  leader  !  Give  us  a  man  !  To 
the  fortifications  !     To  the  fortifications  !  " 

"  I  will  lead  you,"  said  the  man  who  wore  the  red  sash 
across  his  breast. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "'  }^elled  an  officer. 

"  Delescluzc,  delegue  civil  a  la  guerre,  citizens  !  ' 

Then  the  troops  broke  into  maddening  shouts  of  joy,  and 
the  drums  rolled  from  the  Rue  Vavin. 

"  Delescluze  !  Delescluze  !  Forward  !  He  will  lead  us 
into  fire  !  "  they  howled,  and  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  echoed 
with  the  confused  din  of  departure. 

"From  the  iron  gateway  of  a  court-yard,  half-way  up  the 
street,  a  face,  with  two  frightened  eyes,  appeared,  cautiously 
reconnoitring.  As  the  "  Avengers,"  company  after  com- 
pany, tramped  away  through  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  and 
swung  into  the  Rue  Vavin,  cheering  for  Delescluze  and  the 
Commune,  the  face  was  thrust  farther  and  farther  from  the 
gate  ;  and  at  last,  as  the  rear  of  the  battalion  disappeared 
around  the  corner  of  the  Convent,  the  head,  shoulders,  and 
finally  the  whole  body  of  the  anxious  watcher  appeared.  It 
was  Joseph  Lelocard,  concierge  to  Philip  Landes.  Trouble 
and  fright  had  paled  Joseph's  features.  His  face,  now  thin 
and  unkempt,  worked  convulsively  for  a  moment,  then  he 
turned  hastily  back  into  the  alley  and,  galloping  through  the 
garden,  entered  the  studio  without  knocking.  Ellice  was 
sitting  before  the  empty  fireplace,  his  head  in  his  hands,  and 
he  looked  up,  startled,  as  Joseph  entered. 

"  What  in  Heaven's  name — "  he  began,  but  Joseph's  face 
was  radiant,  and  he  swung  his  arms  about  his  head  in  a 
delirium  of  joy. 

"  The  Federals  have  gone  !  Oh,  Monsieur  Jack,  they  have 
gone  !    Not  a  single  Communard  remains  in  the  Rue  Notre- 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  27 5 

Dame  !  You  do  not  believe  me  !  You  turn  pale  and 
tremble  !  Yet  I,  Joseph  Lelocard,  say  it — they  have 
gone  !  " 

"  What  is  it,  Monsieur  Ellice  ?  "  cried  Marguerite,  coming 
to  the  balcony  of  the  room  above.  She  was  very  pale,  but 
more  beautiful  than  ever. 

'  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Bricuc,"  stammered  Ellice,  "  Joseph 
says  the  Federals  have  gone." 

'  Come  for  yourself  and  see,  Monsieur  Ellice, — come  and 
see,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Brieuc, — it  is  as  I  say  !  " 

"  If  they  have  gone — really  gone  this  time,"  said 
Marguerite,  slowly,  "we  should  not  lose  a  single  moment. 
For  the  man  who  got  into  the  garden  yesterday  was  a  spy  ; 
there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,  and  Raoul  Rigault  will  not 
leave  us  in  peace  for  many  hours  more." 

'  I  fear  he  was  a  spy,"  said  Ellice  ;  "I  have  tried  not  to 
be  anxious  or  frighten  you,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  was 
here  from  Rigault's  police.  We  ought  to  leave  this  place  at 
once.     How  soon  can  you  get  ready  ?  " 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  replied. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  right ;  it  is  better  not  to  take  anything 
with  you  through  the  streets,"  said  Joseph. 

'  Then  come  quickly,"  cried  Ellice,  putting  on  his  hat  ; 
"  I  have  all  the  money  with  me." 

Marguerite  ran  down  the  stairs  into  the  studio,  and  they 
walked  hastily  through  the  garden,  Joseph  following. 

"  Good-bye,  Mademoiselle  ;  good-bye,  Monsieur,"  he  said, 
while  the  tears  ran  over  his  cheeks  ;  "  I  will  take  good  care  of 
the  studio  and  the  puppy.  If  God  wills  it,  you  will  come  back 
and  bring  my  poor,  dear  Monsieur  Philip  and — and — Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac  " — he  was  blubbering  outright  now,  and 
Ellice  shook  his  hard  hand  silently. 

"  We  will  come  back,  my  good  Joseph,"  said  Marguerite, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  and  followed  Ellice  into  the  Rue  Notre  - 
Dame.  Ten  minutes  later,  as  Joseph  stood  in  the  doorway  of 
his  lodge,  contemplating  a  bone  which  Toodles  had  recently 
disinterred  from  a  flower  bed,  a  file  of  National  Guards 
entered  the  alley-way  and  halted  before  him.  But  it  was  too 
late,  the  birds  were  on  the  wing,  and  Ferre,  who  led  the  file  of 
soldiers,  retired,  menacing  Joseph  with  future  punishment,  in 
case  it  was  proved  that  he  knew  of  the  fugitives'  flight.  For 
Joseph  had  done  the  idiot  act  to  perfection,   and  Ferre, 


276  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

muttering  "  imbecile,  cretin,  idiot  !  "  went  out  banging  the 
gate  violently. 

By  half-past  five  o'clock  Ellice  and  Marguerite  had 
managed  to  reach  the  Trocadero.  Their  path  to  the  Ameri- 
can Legation  was  a  tortuous  one,  for  barricades  cut  the 
streets  everywhere,  and  long,  weary  detours  were  necessary. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellice  ;  "  this  seems  to  be  almost 
hopeless.  Here  we  are  at  the  Trocadero,  and  not  the  slightest 
prospect  of  getting  any  nearer  to  Mr.  Washburn." 

"  Ah,  if  his  Excellency  only  knew  !  "  sighed  Marguerite. 
Then  in  a  low  voice  she  continued  :  "  Don't  look,  Jack,  but 
a  man  is  watching  us  from  the  kiosque  behind  you.  What 
shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  Federal  soldier  ?  " 

"  No — a  citizen  ;  oh,  he  is  coming  !  " 

Ellice  turned  and  faced  the  man,  who  was  now  close  to 
them. 

"  Whom  are  you  seeking  in  this  quarter,  citizen  ?  "  asked 
the  man,  politely  lifting  his  hat. 

Ellice  did  not  answer. 

"  You  appear  to  be  lost,"  said  the  man.  "  Are  you  looking 
for  any  street  to  which  I  may  be  able  to  direct  you  ?  ' 

"  No,  Monsieur — "  began  Marguerite — then  bit  her  lip,  for 
she  had  forgotten  to  say  "  Citizen  "  instead  of  "  Monsieur," 
and  the  man  would  know  that  they  were  either  suspects  or 
fugitives. 

Then  the  man  began  to  laugh.  "  Do  not  be  alarmed, 
Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  also  belong  to  your  party.  My  name 
is  Ducatel,  Conducteur  des  Ponts  et  Chausees.  You  can 
speak  freely.     Can  I  aid  you  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  can,"  said  Ellice,  "if  you  really  mean  it. 
We  are  homeless.     Can  you  give  us  a  roof  for  the  night  ?  ' 

"  I  would  be  very  happy  to  do  so.  I  live  near  the  Point- 
du-Jour,  but  in  my  house  the  cellar  is  the  safest  place  just 
now.  If  you  will  do  me  the  honour  to  follow  me,  I  will  lead 
you  there  in  twenty  minutes,"  said  Ducatel,  pleasantly. 

Ellice  was  inclined  to  be  suspicious  of  Monsieur  Ducatel 
and  his  offer,  and  said  so  frankly. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  laughed  the  Frenchman,  "  it  is  your  affair. 
I  regret  that  these  times  make  friends  seem  like  enemies, 
but  I  can  only  offer  you  what  I  have." 

"  Then  we  accept  your  offer,"  said  Ellice,  a  little  ashamed  ; 


HUSBASD    AXD    WIFE  2JJ 

and  he  and  Marguerite  followed  Monsieur  Ducatel  toward  the 
Point-du-Jour. 

'  Do  you  not  think  it  is  strange  that  we  meet  no  Federal 
troops  ?  "  said  Ducatel,  after  they  had  been  walking  for  ten 
minutes  in  silence.  Ellice  looked  about  him.  It  was  twi- 
light. The  long  rows  of  empty  streets  stretched  away  into 
Paris,  and  in  the  lamps  no  lights  appeared.  The  houses 
stood  up  on  every  side,  black,  battered,  and  deserted.  He 
began  to  realize  the  desolation  of  the  scene  and  glanced  at 
Ducatel. 

The  Frenchman  hurried  on,  growing  more  and  more 
excited  as  he  neared  the  fortifications. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  cried,  "  I  believe  the  Federals  have  aban- 
doned the  quarter  !  See  the  marks  that  the  shells  leave, — 
everywhere  ruin  and  destruction, — ha  !  there  is  a  barricade  ; 
can  you  see  any  movement  behind  it  ?  " 

'  It  is  abandoned,"  said  Ellice,  quickly,  catching  the 
excitement. 

"Then — do  you  know  that  nothing  is  here  to  prevent  the 
entry  of  the  Versailles  troops?  "  cried  Ducatel.  "  It  seems 
incredible  that  the  Federals  should  leave  the  ramparts.  Just 
look  how  battered  they  are  !  That  breach  would  be  wide 
enough  in  a  few  days  at  any  rate.  What  a  chance  the 
Versaillists  have — if  they  only  knew  it  !  " 

'  Suppose  we  try  to  attract  their  attention,"  said 
Marguerite. 

Ducatel  looked  at  her.  Then  he  drew  out  his  handkerchief 
and  tied  it  to  the  end  of  his  umbrella. 

"  Madame  is  right,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  we  can  try.  The 
Versaillists  are  not  two  hundred  metres  from  the  bastions." 

Ellice  and  Marguerite  started  to  follow  him  to  the  ramparts, 
but  he  waved  them  back. 

'  They  may  fire,"  he  said,  "  why  risk  three  lives  ?  " 
'  Is    it    necessary    to    mount    the    ramparts  ?  "    asked 
Marguerite;    "why  not  try  to  signal  them  from  the  gate 
there  ?  " 

"Better  still,"  muttered  Ducatel. 

Ellice  and  Marguerite  helped  him  drag  the  iron  grille  open 
and  then  the  Frenchman  stepped  along  the  massive  sally- 
port, peering  anxiously  out  through  the  twilight  into  the 
country  beyond.  Ellice  and  Marguerite  were  too  excited  to 
stay  behind,  and  presently  the  three  stood  on  the  extreme 


278  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

edge  of  the  moat,  waving  handkerchiefs  and  hats  in  the 
direction  of  the  Versailles  trenches.  One  by  one  a  dozen 
dark  heads  bobbed  up  from  the  rifle  pits  and  Ellice  caught 
the   glitter  of  musket  barrels  in  the  starlight. 

"  Go  back,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  hastily,  "  they  may 
fire  !  "  but  Marguerite  refused. 

The  minutes  passed  and  the  dark  forms  in  the  distant 
trenches  increased  in  number,  but  no  answering  signals 
came  back.  Ducatel  was  in  despair.  "  Ten  to  one  they 
think  it  a  trick  !  "  he  said  bitterly  ;  "  you,  Madame,  and  you 
also,  Monsieur,  should  not  expose  yourselves,  for  I,  for  my 
part,  expect  a  volley."  Ellice  tried  to  lead  Marguerite  back 
to  the  shelter  of  the  gateway,  but  she  refused  obstinately  and 
swung  her  handkerchief  in  desperation. 

"  They  must  understand  !  "  she  kept  repeating,  "  oh  !  Do 
you  not  think  they  will  ?  "  Then,  as  they  looked,  a  form 
leaped  from  the  trenches,  bearing  aloft  a  white  rag  tied  to  a 
sabre. 

"  They  understand  !    They  are  coming  !  "  cried  Ellice. 

Ducatel  waved  his  umbrella  frantically.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  grey  figure,  and  now  they  heard  a  challenge 
shouted  across  the  fields  ;  "  Don't  fire  !  Officer  with  flag 
of  truce  !  " 

"Thank  God  !  "  sobbed  Marguerite. 

Ducatel  sprang  forward  on  the  causeway,  and  Ellice  saw 
him  join  the  Versailles  officer  in  the  middle  of  the  field.  The 
meeting  was  unmistakably  cordial,  for  he  saw  Ducatel  fling 
himself  into  the  officer's  arms  and  embrace  him  vigorously. 
Then  a  whistle  sounded  and  out  of  the  trenches  sprang 
masses  of  men,  and  before  Ellice  had  time  to  think,  they  were 
pouring  across  the  causeway  to  the  shattered  sally-port. 

"  Is  it  deserted  ?  "  cried  an  officer,  incredulously. 
'Yes  !     Yes  !      Hurry  !"   replied  Ellice,   laughing  with 
joy  ;    "  there's  not  a  Federal  in  the  Trocadero  quarter  !  " 

From  the  star-lit  fields  outside  the  trenches,  long  dark 
columns  now  appeared,  infantry  and  artillery,  and  presently 
a  field  battery  clanked  through  the  sally-port.  Ellice  drew 
Marguerite  aside  to  let  it  pass.  She  was  weeping  now,  for 
the  joy  of  sudden  deliverance  was  too  great.  As  they 
watched  the  passing  cannon,  out  from  the  throng  and  press  of 
horsemen  a  cavalier  trotted,  holding  a  torch.  The  glimmering 
light  fell  full  on  men  and  cannon,  and  Ellice  smiled  silent 


THE    VIVANDIERE    OF    THE    66TH  279 

greetings  to  many  a  bronzed  artilleryman  bumping  in 
through  the  gateway.  The  batteries  rumbled  past,  and  an 
officer,  riding  a  fiery  black  charger,  attempted  to  cut  out 
ahead  of  the  caissons. 

"  Go  back  !  "  said  Ellice,  "  you  will  crush  us  !  "  But 
Marguerite  sprang  forward  and  caught  at  his  stirrup. 

"  Alain  !  "  she  cried,  "  oh,  Alain  !  " 

The  officer  bent  in  his  stirrups  and,  seizing  the  girl,  swung 
her  to  the  saddle  in  front  of  him.  Then  raising  his  hand,  he 
shouted,  'Halt  !  halt  !"  and  the  long  file  of  guns  and 
caissons  stopped. 

'  What  is  the  trouble,  Captain  de  Carette  ?  "  cried  an 
officer,  hurrying  up  from  the  rear. 

"  No  trouble,  Major — my  wife  was  in  danger  for  a  moment. 
Wait  until  I  take  her  out  ahead  of  the  train — now  you  can 
order  them  forward." 

And  so  Captain  Alain  de  Carette  rode  into  Paris  at  the 
head  of  his  battery  with  his  fainting  wife  on  his  saddle-bow. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

The  Vivandiere  of  the  66th 

On  the  night  of  the  twenty-second  of  May,  forty  prisoners 
were  hurriedly  transferred  from  the  Mazas  Prison  to  the 
prison  of  La  Grande  Roquette.  Of  these  forty,  Monseigneur 
Darboy,  Archbishop  of  Paris,  was  the  most  important  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Commune  ;  the  least  important  were  Philip 
Landes  and  Jeanne  de  Brassac. 

That  morning,  as  Delescluze,  delegue  civil  a  la  guerre,  sat 
consulting  with  Raoul  Rigault  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  a 
messenger  arrived  breathless  with  the  news  that  the 
Versailhsts  were  in  Paris. 

Rigault  bellowed  his  astonishment,  but  Delescluze,  scorn- 
fully discrediting  the  news,  jumped  into  a  carriage  and  drove 
rapidly  toward  the  Trocadero  to  see  for  himself.  An  hour 
later  he  returned,  haggard  and  anxious. 

"  The   gate   of   the    Point-du-Jour   was    abandoned   last 
night,"  he  said,  "  and  the  enemy  hold  the  Trocadero  !  " 
T 


280  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'  Then,"    replied    Rigault,    coolly,    "  I    must    hurry   my 
executions.     Where  is  Colonel  Weser  ?  " 

"  Deserted,"  said  Delcscluze,  in  a  low  voice. 
'  You'd  better  inform  the  Commune,"  returned  Rigault  ; 
"  au  revoir,  I'm  going  to  shoot  a  few  priests,"  and  he  walked 
away  toward  the  Mazas  Prison. 

Delescluze  called  Fortin  and  told  him  all. 

"  They  can  never  pass  the  barricades  !  "  growled  Fortin, 
but  Ferre,  yelling  like  a  lunatic,  burst  into  the  council 
chamber  of  the  Commune,  shaking  his  fists  and  rolling  his 
bloodshot  eyes. 

'  Treachery  !  Treachery  !  "  he  shouted  ;  "the  Versaillists 
are  in  Paris  !  " 

The  Commune  rose  in  a  body,  angry,  incredulous. 
'  'Who  dared  say  it  ?  "  thundered  Sicard,  his  face  distorted 
with  passion. 

"To  the  barricades  !  "  cried  another,  and  pandemonium 
broke  loose  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

Then  began  that  horrible  seven  days'  fight  in  the  streets  of 
Paris,  where  thirty-five  thousand  Federals  were  butchered  by 
the  Versailles  troops.  In  three  divisions  MacMahon's  army 
encircled  the  city,  and  hour  by  hour  the  circle  contracted, 
leaving  heaps  of  corpses,  and  gutters  pouring  blood  into  the 
overflowing  sewers.  Street  after  street,  barricade  after 
barricade  fell,  and  inch  by  inch  Thiers'  army  fought  its  way 
through  Paris  amid  the  frenzied  acclamations  of  the  citizens, 
while  the  Commune,  retreating  from  the  blood-wet  barricades, 
turned  savagely  on  the  people  with  torch  and  sword. 

Heavy  explosions  shook  the  city  to  its  foundations  ;  the 
splendid  Rue  Royale  was  blazing,  and  the  Ministry  of  Finance, 
its  noble  facade  dripping  with  petroleum,  caught  fire  and 
sent  a  roaring  pillar  of  flame  into  the  sky.  Ruffians  from 
Belleville  and  the  Faubourgs  dashed  pails  of  petroleum  over 
museums  and  palaces,  or  pumped  it  out  of  fire-engines, 
directing  streams  of  kerosene  from  the  great  fire  hose,  over 
wall,  roof,  and  spire.  The  Tuileries  vomited  flames  from 
every  window,  the  Louvre,  the  Palais  Royal,  the  Conseil 
d'etat,  the  Palace  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  all  were  burning. 
An  enormous  mushroom-shaped  cloud  hung  over  Paris, 
hiding  the  sun,  and  through  the  pall  of  smoke  and  dust 
plunged  the  shells  from  Mont-Valerien,  whistling,  shrieking, 
bursting,  and  crashing,  among  the  barricades,  drowning  the 


THE    VIVANDIERE    OF    THE    66TH  28 1 

fierce  roar  of  the  flames  and  rattle  of  musketry.  The  Palais 
de  Justice  sank  to  the  ground,  a  heap  of  glowing  coals, 
through  which  the  Sainte-Chapelle  showed  intact.  When  the 
Prefecture  of  Police  began  to  pour  out  volumes  of  thick  black 
smoke,  Raoul  Rigault  sauntered  out  of  it  with  a  sneer  on 
his  lips. 

A  man,  standing  all  alone  on  the  corner  opposite,  watched 
the  conflagration  with  satisfaction  until  the  66th  battalion  of 
Federals  appeared  at  the  lower  end  of  the  street,  closely 
pressed  by  a  body  of  Versailles  dragoons.  Then  the  man, 
who  wore  the  uniform  of  an  insurgent  staff-officer,  started 
to  run,  but  his  progress  was  interrupted  by  a  fresh  influx  of 
Federals  from  the  opposite  end  of  the  street,  and  he  struggled 
for  a  moment  to  disengage  himself. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Citizen  ?  "  cried  a  young  girl  whom 
he  had  jostled.  She  was  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a  regi- 
mental Vivandiere,  and  carried  her  left  hand  in  a  sling. 

"  Tiens,  it's  Isidore  Weser  !  "  she  added,  angrily ;  "  running 
away,  too.     This  won't  do,  }^ou  know,  Citizen  Weser  !  " 

"  Let  me  alone  !  "  panted  Weser,  starting  to  run  again. 

"  Stop  him  !  "  cried  the  Vivandiere,  "  he  is  deserting  in  the 
face  of  the  enemy  !  " 

"  I'll  fix  you,  Faustine  Courtois  !  "  snarled  Weser, 
trembling  with  fright,  and  he  struck  at  her  savagely  with  the 
hilt  of  his  sabre.  The  blow  fell  on  the  interposed  barrel  of  a 
rifle,  and  two  Federal  soldiers  seized  him  by  the  collar. 

"  Oh,  he  strikes  at  the  Commune,  does  he  ?  "  cried  a  soldier, 
snatching  a  revolver  from  his  red  sash,  "  let  us  settle  this 
gentleman's  affair  !  " 

Before  he  could  fire,  however,  he  was  knocked  off  his  feet 
by  a  sudden  stampede  of  the  insurgents.  The  Versailles 
dragoons  were  among  them,  sabring,  shooting,  trampling,  but 
the  66th  battalion  rallied  and  threw  themselves  on  the  horse- 
men like  wild  beasts,  howling,  bayoneting,  tearing  tooth  and 
nail  until  the  dragoons  wheeled  and  fled. 

There  was  a  barricade  on  the  Rue  Caumartin,  and  to  that 
refuge  the  fragments  of  the  66th  surged,  Weser  among  them, 
bleeding,  dishevelled,  and  terribly  frightened. 

Faustine,  one  hand  in  a  sling,  a  revolver  in  the  other, 
marched  behind  him,  her  pretty  face  pale  but  determined. 
The  Federals  threw  themselves  behind  the  barricade,  thrust- 
ing their  smoke-stained  rifles  over  the  top,  glaring  furiously 


2S2  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

toward  the  distant  corner  where  their  comrades'  corpses  lay 
heaped  among  the  stiffening  horses  of  dead  dragoons. 
Faustine  cast  a  scornful  glance  at  Weser,  mounted  the 
barricade,  and  turned  to  the  soldiers  below. 

"  Brothers,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  the  assassins  are  here, — 
the  assassins  of  Versailles  !  They  bring  us  death  or  slavery. 
Choose  !  " 

"Death!"  cried  the  insurgents — "down  with  the 
Royalists  !    Vive  la  Commune  !  " 

'  Vive  la  Republique  !  "  echoed  the  girl  in  a  clear  voice. 

At  that  moment  a  staff  officer,  who  walked  very  un- 
steadily, entered  the  barricade  from  the  rear  and  attempted 
to  pass  the  sentinels. 

Qui  vive?  "  they  demanded. 

"  Go  to  h — 1  !  "  replied  the  officer,  attempting  to  draw 
his  sabre. 

"Citizen,"  cried  Faustine,  "you  can't  pass  without  the 
countersign." 

"  Hey  !  Shut  up,  you  hussy  !  "  he  shouted,  and  added  a 
gross  insult.  Faustine  stood  silent,  the  hot  flush  of  shame 
staining  her  neck  and  cheeks. 

"  Drunken  fool,"  sneered  Rigault,  tripping  him  up,  and 
shot  him  to  death  as  he  sprawled  in  the  gutter.  Then  he 
hurried  away,  saying  :  "  Bayonet  that  man  Weser,  I  am 
going  to  shoot  some  priests." 

They  hunted  high  and  low  for  Weser,  and  finally  found 
him  hiding  under  a  gabion.  "  To  the  wall  !  To  the  wall  !  " 
they  cried.  "  Death  to  cowards  !  "  Weser  fought,  biting 
and  scratching,  to  the  foot  of  the  blood-spattered  wall,  but 
as  they  jerked  him  to  his  feet,  a  cry  arose  :  "  Look  out  !  the 
Line  !  "  and  the  lower  end  of  the  street  was  filled  with 
Versailles  sharp-shooters.  In  an  instant  the  barricade 
spurted  flame  and  the  field-piece  crashed  out,  hurling  a  storm 
of  canister  over  the  pavement.  Wreser  lay  quite  still  for 
a  moment,  then  cautiously  dragged  himself  to  the  vesti- 
bule of  the  opposite  house  and  curled  up  in  the  darkest 
corner. 

The  fusillade  from  the  barricade  had  swept  the  Versailles 
infantry  off  the  pavement,  but  they  still  fired  from  the  corner 
of  the  street  and  bright  jets  of  flame  shot  from  the  closed 
blinds  of  the  houses  on  either  side  of  the  Rue  Caumartin. 
Presently   muffled   explosions    told   the   Federals   that   the 


THE    VIVANDIERE    OF    THE    6677/  283 

enemy  were  blowing  their  way  through  the  house  walls  to 
outflank  them. 

"  Nevermind  !  Courage  !  "  cried  Faustine,  "  the  barricade 
will  hold  in  front.  Turn  your  cannon  on  that  yellow  house, 
citizen  Faure  !  " 

"  They  will  try  the  bayonet  soon,"  said  Genton,  who  had 
just  entered  the  barricade  with  his  secretary,  Fortin. 

"  Let  them  !  "  smiled  Faustine. 

"  They  take  no  prisoners,"  said  Sicard  ;  "  the  six  poor 
fellows  whom  they  captured  an  hour  ago  were  shoved  against 
the  first  wall  without  mercy." 

'  Very  well,"  cried  Genton  ;  "  we  also  can  shoot.  What  is 
Rigault  doing  with  his  hundreds  of  priests  and  gendarmes  ? 
Why  don't  he  shoot  six  prisoners  also  ?  " 

"  It's  a  good  time  to  settle  the  Archbishop  !  "  suggested 
Sicard. 

"  Then  let  us  settle  him  !  "  urged  Fortin.  "  Here,  Sicard, 
come  with  Genton  and  me.  Take  half  a  dozen  volunteers 
and  we'll  find  Ferre  and  get  the  order." 

Faustine,  standing  on  the  barricade,  heard  Fortin 's  threat 
and  protested.  "  Citizen  Fortin,  you  are  doing  a  shameful 
thing  !  " 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  said  Sicard, 
brutally  ;    "  shut  up  and  mind  your  business  !  " 

"  I  protest !  "  cried  Faustine  ; — "  it  is  murder !  WTvy  should 
you  harm  that  old  man  ?      Fortin,  you  are  my  friend " 

Fortin  looked  at  her  calmly  for  a  moment  and  then 
laughed.  "  You  are  very  pretty,"  he  said,  "  but  you  can't 
teach  me  !     What  do  you  care,  anyhow  ?  " 

'  Have  you  no  shame  ?  "  cried  Faustine,  angrily.  "  Have 
you  no  courage  except  to  murder  priests  ?  Is  this  then  the 
Commune  ?  Is  this  the  cause  for  which  we  fight  ?  '  There 
were  tears  in  her  eyes  and  she  brushed  them  away. 

"  Get  down  from  that  barricade,"  said  Fortin,  "  they  are 
firing  at  you."  She  paid  no  attention  to  the  warning,  but 
began  to  plead  earnestly  for  the  life  of  the  Archbishop. 

'  He  is  so  old,"  she  said,  "  so  helpless  and  gentle.  Has  he 
ever  harmed  anyone  ?     I  trusted  you,  Fortin." 

"  Let  him  die  anyway,"  growled  Sicard  ;  "  we  want  six, 
and  he's  no  better  than  any  of  the  others." 

"  He  must  die,  "said  Fortin,  coldly,  "  but  I'm  not  particular 
who  the  other  five  are," 


284  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'  I  am,"  shouted  a  soldier  standing  beside  him.  "  My 
name  is  Martin,  and  I  demand  the  death  of  the  American, 
Landes." 

"  Martin  !  Martin  !  "  cried  Faustine,  trying  to  make  a 
diversion — "  and  who  cares  if  your  name  is  Martin  ?  ' 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  the  soldier,  doggedly,  "  but  I 
demand  the  death  of  the  American,  Landes." 

"  Well,  it's  as  easy  to  shoot  a  Yankee  as  a  Frenchman — 
we'll  finish  him  along  with  the  priest,"  said  Genton  ;  "  come 
along,  Fortin." 

"  Come  down  from  the  barricade,"  cried  Fortin,  as  a  bullet 
struck  the  stone  at  Faustine 's  feet. 

'  Not  until  you  promise  me  to  spare  the  Archbishop  and 
— the  American." 

"  Come  down,  you  fool." 

Faustine  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "  Emile,"  she 
said,  "  do  you  hear  ?  I  forbid  you  to  shoot  the  American." 
A  volley  from  the  Versailles  troops  drowned  her  voice,  but 
she  went  on  as  soon  as  she  could  be  heard  :  "I  demand  the 
protection  of  the  Commune  for  the  American,  Landes."  A 
second  volley  cut  her  short,  and  a  whistling  shower  of  bullets 
spattered  the  barricade.  Fortin  caught  Faustine  by  the 
wrist  and  tried  to  pull  her  down. 

"  You're  in  the  way  !    They  are  coming  !  We  must  fire  !  " 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  she  panted,  struggling  and  clinging  to  the 
wall. 

"  Get  down,  you  little  idiot ;  can't  you  see  you're  obstruct- 
ing our  cannon  ?  " 

"  Fire  your  cannon  !  "  she  screamed,  wringing  herself  free. 

"  Will  vou  get  down  ?  " 

"No  !  " 

"  Fire,  then  !  "  yelled  Martin,  jerking  the  lanyard. 

"  My  God  !  "  shouted  Fortin,  "  the  girl  was  in  front  !  ' 
He  sprang  on  Martin,  and  they  rolled  over  and  over,  till 
Fortin  could  draw  his  sabre.     A  moment  later  he  picked 
himself  up,  streaming  with  blood. 

"Now  for  the  Archbishop,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  like 
nothing  human.  Followed  by  Sicard,  Genton,  and  six  more 
grimy  insurgents,  he  left  the  barricade. 


'*  THE    PRISON    OF    THE    CONDEMNED  "  285 

CHAPTER    XXVII 

"The  Prison  of  the  Condemned." 

The  light  was  growing  dim  in  the  long  corridor  of  the  "  Prison 
of  the  Condemned,"  and  Francois,  the  Governor,  rubbed  his 
eyes,  and  bent  lower  over  the  file  of  papers  on  the  table 
before  him. 

"  I  can't  see, — here,  Romain,  get  me  a  lamp,"  he  said, 
yawning  and  scratching  his  head.  The  Brigadier  Romain 
departed,  and  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  a  lighted  lamp. 
The  Governor  blinked  and  yawned  again. 

"  It  makes  me  sick,"  he  said,  "  to  have  that  whining  priest 
on  my  hands.  Why  doesn't  Rigault  shoot  him?  He's 
always  miauling  and  praying  and  pretending  he's  sick." 

"  He  says  he  can't  sleep  on  the  board  in  his  cell,"  observed 
the  Brigadier  Romain. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  says  he's  old  and  sick." 

"  And  an  Archbishop  ;  that's  the  trouble  ;  he  thinks  he's 
an  Archbishop  still  !  I'll  correct  that  impression.  I  wish 
I'd  left  him  in  No.  1.  Cell  23  is  the  best  cell  in  La  Grande 
Roquette,  and  he'd  better  be  satisfied.  And  you  tell  him 
to  stop  writing  on  the  wall.  I  won't  have  it.  What  did  he 
write  just  now  ?  " 

'  Oh,  some  Jesuit  foolishness — '  the  cross  is  the  strength 
of  life  and  the  salvation  of  the  soul.'  " 

"  In  French  ?  " 

"  No,  Latin." 

"  Then,"  growled  Francois,  "  it's  some  cipher  signal  and  I 
won't  have  it, — you  understand  ?  These  Jesuits  are  devils 
at  treachery.     Did  you  change  all  the  prisoners  on  this  tier  ? 

"  All,"  said  Romain,  with  his  misleading  pleasant  smile. 
Francois  turned  and  looked  along  the  dark  passage.  The 
central  corridor  was  lined  on  either  side  by  massive  doors, 
each  pierced  by  a  small  "  judas  "  with  iron  crossbars.  In 
the  centre  of  this  corridor  were  half  a  dozen  wash-stands, 
through  the  basins  of  which  water  ran  continually. 

There  was  no  furniture  in  cell  or  corridor  except  the  iron 
benches  let  into  the  solid  masonry,  and  the  single  chair  and 
table,  which  was  only  for  the  Governor's  use.     A  grating  at 


286  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

the  farther  end  of  the  corridor  looked  out  on  the  grassy 
prison  court,  and  just  beyond  one  could  see  the  chapel,  and 
a  section  of  the  wall  surrounding  the  circular  road  or 
"ronde." 

Francois  peered  into  the  prison  twilight,  then  shuffled  to 
his  feet  and  passed  along  the  rows  of  cell  doors,  touching  each 
lightly  with  the  roll  of  paper  in  his  hand,  followed  by  Romain. 

"  Who's  there, — what's  the  number  ?  " 

"Twenty-two, — it's  the  Jesuit,  Guerln." 

"What  !  And  the  Archbishop  in  the  next  cell?  You're 
asleep.  Put  that  American,  Landes,  in  there  after  the  roll- 
call,  and  shove  the  Jesuit  into  the  American's  cell.  Whom 
did  you  put  in  twenty-four  ?  " 

"  That  baby-faced  friend  of  the  American  who  proved  to 
be  a  woman." 

"  Let  the  slut  stay  there  then,  but  don't  lock  any  more 
Jesuits  next  to  the  Archbishop,  or  by  God " 

"  Now,  now,"  urged  Romain,  "  you  must  remember  that 
he  isn't  an  Archbishop  !  " 

"  Slip  of  the  tongue." 

"  And  you  forget  that  God  is  out  of  date  ;  you've  sworn  by 
Him  twice." 

"  Did  I,"  sneered  Francois  ;  "  well,  we  all  make  fools  of 
ourselves  at  times,  and  nursery  rhymes  are  not  easily 
forgotten.     You  don't  suspect  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Romain. 

"  You'd  better  not  !  "  blustered  Francois. 

"  Of  course  not,"  repeated  Romain,  in  his  soft,  pleasant 
voice. 

The  Governor  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "  You're  the 
damnedest,  scoundrelly  hypocrite  unhung  !  '  he  said; 
"  you  can  spy  about  and  fool  the  prisoners  with  your  sym- 
pathetic ways,  but  you'd  better  not  try  any  treachery  on 
me  !  " 

"  You  wrong  me,"  said  Romain  with  a  sincere  manner  that 
would  have  misled  anybody  but  the  Governor. 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  do,"  said  Francois  ;  "  what  did  you  worm 
out  of  the  Jesuit,  Gucrin,  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Not  very  much.  He  says  the  Archbishop  relies  on 
Thiers,  implicitly." 

"  Then  he's  the  biggest  fool  in  Paris.     What  time  is  it  ?  ' 

"Six." 


"  THE    PRISON    OF    THE    CONDEMNED  "  287 

"  It's  too  late  to  turn  the  prisoners  out.  I  suppose  they 
can  stand  it ;   if  they  can't,  I  can,  and  it's  all  the  same." 

"  Will  you  call  the  roll  ?  "  asked  Romain. 

"  Yes,  give  me  that  lamp  and  unlock  the  doors." 

Romain  unhooked  a  heavy  bunch  of  ke};s  from  his  belt  and 
rapidly  unlocked  the  cell  doors,  passing  from  one  to  the  other 
with  a  light  swiftness  which  argued  practice  and  devotion  to 
his  profession. 

"  Cell  number  one  !  Caubert  !  '  cried  the  Governor, 
holding  the  long  sheet  of  paper  close  to  the  lamp  in  his  hand. 
The  cell  door  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  opened  from  within 
and  a  pleasant-faced  priest  walked  out  and  stood  facing  the 
Governor.  Francois  raised  the  lamp  in  his  hand  and  eyed 
the  priest.     "  Caubert  !  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  am  here,"  said  the  priest. 

'  Then  go  back  again,"  said  the  Governor,  brutally.     Pere 
Caubert  turned  back  to  his  cell  with  a  touch  of  irony  in  his 
quiet  smile,  and  the  Governor  locked  him  in. 
'  Number  two  !    Ducoudray  !  "  cried  Francois. 
'  I  am  here,"  said  Father  Ducoudray.     He  was  locked  in 
without  comment. 

"  Number  three  !     Olivaint  !  " 

"  Here." 

"  Number  four  !     Allard  !  " 

"  Here  !  " 

'  Yes,  here  now,  but  probably  under  ground  before  long," 
sneered  the  Governor. 

"  If  God  wills,"  said  Father  Allard. 

:'  If  Raoul  Rigault  wills,"  mimicked  Francois,  slamming 
the  cell  door.     Presently  he  came  to  cell  twenty-two. 

"  Twenty-two  !     Guerin  !  " 

"  Here  \" 

"  Where's  that  American,"  asked  Francois,  turning  to 
Romain.  '  Oh,  you've  got  him  with  you,  eh  ?  Then  run 
this  Jesuit  into  his  cell  and  put  him  next  to  the  Arch — to  the 
old  fox,  Darboy, — so.  Landes,  I  hope  you  won't  mind  the 
smell  of  a  Jesuit.  We'll  air  your  cell  in  the  morning  ;  "  and 
he  closed  the  door  on  Philip's  heels. 

"  Twenty-three  !    Darboy  !  " 

'  You'll  have  to  open  the  door  and  go  in.  He's  too  sick 
to  get  up,"  observed  Romain. 

'  He's  got  to  get  up  !  "  cried  the  Governor,  and  at  the 


288  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

same  moment  the  Archbishop  appeared  on  the  threshold  of 
his  cell.  His  hair  was  white  as  snow,  and  his  long  white 
beard  which  had  grown  in  prison  fell  untrimmed  on  his 
breast. 

'  lam  here,"  said  the  Archbishop  in  a  voice  weak  with  pain. 
"  Glad   to  see  you.     Exercise  will  do   you  good,"  said 
Francois  ;   "do  you  sleep  well  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Evil  conscience  !  "  commented  the  Governor,  and 
slammed  the  door  in  his  face.     "Twenty-four  !  Citoyenne  !" 

"  I  am  here,"  said  Jeanne  de  Brassac,  stepping  from  her 
cell. 

"  Ah,  you  little  devil  of  a  spy,  I'd  like  to  ring  your  neck," 
observed  Francois,  leering  at  her. 

Jeanne,  still  clothed  in  the  faded  uniform  of  the  Subsistence 
Department,  leaned  wearily  against  the  cell  door.  It  was 
not  the  first  threat  she  had  received  from  the  Governor  of 
La  Grande  Roquette. 

'  Faugh  !  Get  in  there,  you  hussy  !  "  growled  Francois, 
and  pushed  the  door  back.  Then  he  moved  on  with  his  roll 
of  paper  and  his  little  lamp,  and  presently  the  great  gate  in 
the  court  clanged  and  the  corridor  was  silent,  save  for  the 
measured  tread  of  the  first  night  watch  and  the  tinkling  of 
the  water  in  the  iron  wash-basins. 

Philip,  sitting  in  his  cell,  heard  the  gate  slam,  and  knew 
that  the  Governor  had  gone.  He  sat  thinking  for  a  moment, 
then  rose  and  walked  to  the  grating  which  formed  a  section 
of  the  partition  which  separated  his  cell  from  the  cell  of  the 
Archbishop.  Through  this  grating  he  could  see  across  a 
portion  of  the  Archbishop's  cell,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
grating  in  the  partition  of  the  cell  beyond,  but  the  light  was 
growing  so  dim  that  the  grating  was  merely  an  indistinct  blot 
in  the  twilight.  He  looked  at  the  Archbishop,  lying  silently 
on  the  wretched  board  which  projected  from  the  wall. 

"  Monseigneur,"  he  said,  softly. 

"  My  son,"  replied  the  old  man,  painfully  rising  on  his 
elbow  and  looking  up. 

"  It  is  I — Philip  Landes,  the  American,  Monseigneur." 

The  Archbishop  smiled.  In  the  hours  of  recreation  in  the 
courtyard  he  had  become  very  fond  of  Philip. 

"  So  you  are  there  now,"  he  said  ;  "  what  has  become  of 
the  Abbe  Guerin  ?  " 


"  THE    PRISON    OF    THE    CONDEMNED  "  289 

"  They  put  him  into  my  old  cell,  Monseigneur.     Can  I  be 
of  any  use  to  you  ?    I  have  not  yet  eaten  my  supper." 

'  Eat  it,  my  son  ; — I  thank  you,  but  they  give  me  much 
more  than  I  am  able  to  eat." 

"  Are  you  suffering  very  much  to-night,  Monseigneur  ?  " 

'  Not  more  than  I  can  bear,"  said  the  old  man.     "  Do  you 

know  that  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  is  in  the  cell  beside  mine  ?  " 

'  No.     Will  it  disturb  you,  Monseigneur,  if  I  speak  with 

her  ?  " 

'  I  will  call  her  myself,"  said  the  Archbishop  ;  "  Jeanne  ! 
Jeanne  !  "  Then  Philip  heard  a  timid  voice  from  the  dark- 
ness ;    "  Je  suis  la,  Monseigneur." 

"  Jeanne,"  called  Philip,  softly. 

"  Philip  !    Oh,  are  you  there,  my  darling?  " 

"  Hush  !  "said  Philip,  "or  they  will  hear  us.  Are  you 
well  ?    Have  you  enough  to  eat  ?    I  have  my  supper  here." 

"  Eat  it,  you  silly  boy  ;   I  have  all  I  wish  for." 

"  And  are  you  well  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  she  replied,  bravely  ; — "  are  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     You  have  not  lost  hope  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  not  while  you  are  there." 

"  And  God  lives,"  said  the  Archbishop. 

"  And  God  lives,"  they  repeated  reverently. 

After  a  pause,  Philip  spoke  again  : 

"  Did  you  hear  the  firing  this  morning,  Jeanne  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  seemed  to  be  very  near." 

"  A  shell  fell  into  the  street  outside  about  four  o'clock. 
I  saw  it  from  my  window  in  the  opposite  tier." 

"  Do — do  you  think  the  Versaillists  could  have  entered  ?  " 
asked  Jeanne,  timidly. 

"  I  dare  hope  so.  That  firing  came  from  the  city.  What 
else  could  it  have  been, — unless  they  are  massacring  the 
people." 

"  It  may  have  been  a  peloton  of  execution,"  said  the 
Archbishop,  feebly. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  Monseigneur  ;  it  was  not  single  volley 
firing, — it  sounded  like  the  firing  from  a  barricade." 

The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  sighed  and 
turned  over  on  his  board. 

"  I  think  I  might  sleep  a  little,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Then  good-night,  Monseigneur,"  they  said.  He  gave 
them  his  blessing,  and  turned  his  face  to  the  stone  wall. 


290  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Good-night,  my  darling,"  whispered  Philip. 

"  Good-night,  my  own  Philip,"  sighed  Jeanne.  Then  she 
stood  silent,  seized  with  a  sudden  terror. 

'  Hark  !  "  cried  the  Archbishop,  suddenly  sitting  up  and 
turning  his  head  toward  the  cell  door.  From  the  street  out- 
side came  the  sound  they  had  learned  to  know  so  well — the 
voice  of  an  angry  crowd  growing  louder  and  louder,  until 
somewhere  a  great  door  was  flung  open,  and  the  dash  of 
many  feet  sounded  on  stone  floors.  Then  came  a  single  cry, 
ominous,  sinister,  penetrating  even  the  solid  stone  walls  of 
the  Prison  of  the  Condemned,  "  Death  !  " 

The  Archbishop  tottered  to  his  feet  and  stood  facing  his 
cell  door.  There  came  a  shout,  the  clash  of  bayonets,  and  in 
a  second  the  long  corridor  was  filled  with  the  blazing  light  of 
torches  and  the  rush  of  a  mob. 

"What's  this?"  shouted  the  Governor  of  the  Prison, 
hastening  into  the  corridor,  half-dressed  ;  "  Romain,  I  call 
3'ou  to  witness " 

'  Oh,  shut  up  !  '  interrupted  Fortin,  contemptuously, 
"  we've  got  an  order.     Where's  the  old  fox,  Darboy  ?  " 

"  Order  ?    From  whom  ?  " 

"  Ferre  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  Governor,  "  that's  another  matter."  He 
looked  at  the  motley  throng,  Garibaldians,  Hussars  of 
Death,  Avengers  of  the  Republic,  National  Guards,  and 
deserters. 

"  Who  commands  ?  "  he  asked,  briefly. 

'  I,  Jean  Verig,  captain  of  the  iSoth  !  "  roared  a  villainous- 
browed  fellow. 

"  No,  you  don't,  you  fool  !  "  said  Fortin,  "  I  do,  and  here 
is  my  order,"  shoving  it  under  the  Governor's  nose. 

"  I  can't  see  it, — read  it,"  said  Francois,  sulkily. 
Then  Fortin  read  in  a  loud  voice  : 

'  The  Citizen  Governor  of  the  Prison  of  the  Condemned  is 
hereby  ordered  to  execute  six  hostages — notably  the  Sieur 
Darboy,  calling  himself  Archbishop  of  Paris. 
(Signed)  "  Ferk£, 

"  Raoul  Rigault." 

'That  is  all  right,"  said  Francois,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"  We'll  take  the  first  six  on  your  list.     Read  the  names  !  " 


•THE    PRISON    OF    THE    CONDEMNED"  291 

"  Silence  !  "  commanded  Fortin,  and  read  the  first  six 
names  in  a  heavy  voice  : 

"  Darboy. 

"  Deguerry. 

"  Bonjean. 

"  Clerc. 

"  Allard. 

"  Ducoudray." 

Brigadier  Romain  had  opened  a  cell  door  and  the  Arch 
bishop  dragged  his  fever-racked  frame  across  the  threshold. 

"  Are  you  the  Citizen  Darboy  ?  "  demanded  Verig. 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  Stand  there,  then  !  " 

"Am  I  to  die?  " 

"Are  you  to  die?  "  mimicked  Si  card  ;  "my  faith  !  I 
think  you  are." 

The  five  other  victims  were  hastily  led  out  of  their  cells 
and  placed  in  single  file.  Romain,  swinging  a  lantern,  led 
the  procession,  followed  by  the  motley  throng  of  Federals, 
Genton,  Fortin,  and  Sicard  bringing  up  the  rear  with 
Francois. 

Slowly  they  descended  the  stone  steps,  twenty-five  in 
number,  entered  a  gallery  which  bordered  the  facade  opposite 
the  court-yard,  passed  the  doorway,  descended  six  more 
steps,  and  entered  the  path  which  encircles  the  prison  walls, — 
the  dreary  "  chemin  de  ronde."  Again  they  turned  to  the 
right,  through  the  garden  of  the  hospital,  through  the  "  Salle 
des  Vieillards,"  and  entered  the  second  "  chemin  de  ronde." 
Here  the  Archbishop  was  taken  suddenly  faint,  for  the  road 
was  long  and  he  was  very  ill.  The  President  Bonjean  was 
sobbing,  and  Sicard  laughed  at  him. 

"  Coward,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  not  for  myself,  I  have  a  family,"  said  Bonjean. 

"  You  cannot  intend  to  shoot  us,"  said  the  Archbishop, 
piteously  ;    "it  is  impossible " 

"  Enough  !  "  cried  Fortin,  and  the  procession  moved  on 
to  the  grille,  passed  it,  and  stood  below  the  exterior  wall  of 
the  prison. 

"  Monseigneur  !  "  cried  Father  Clerc,  falling  on  his  knees. 
All  the  priests  knelt.  The  old  man  silently  blessed  them, 
then  tottered  to  his  place  against  the  wall. 

"  Hurry  !  "  urged  Francois,  "  or  you  can't  see  to  aim." 


292  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

'  Lend  me  your  sabre,"  said  Sicard  to  Fortin  :   "  I'll  order 
the  firing." 

Genton  placed  the  armed  mob  in  three  ranks  and  stepped 
back  beside  Francois.  Father  Allard  opened  his  soutane  and 
bared  his  breast,  and  at  the  same  instant  Sicard  raised  his 
sabre.  The  rifles  cracked  sharply.  "  Fire  !  '  shouted 
Sicard  again,  and  again  the  rifles  blazed.  And,  the  Arch- 
bishop still  showing  signs  of  life,  Sicard  motioned  a  man  to 
finish  him  with  the  bayonet  and  strolled  over  to  Genton. 
'*  Well,"  he  said,  "  that  settles  the  Archbishop  !  " 
"  My  compliments,"  said  Genton  ;  "  have  you  got  a 
cigarette  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

The  Last  Barricade 

The  morning  after  the  Archbishop's  murder,  two  new 
prisoners  were  brought  into  the  "  Prison  of  the  Condemned." 
Francois  inspected  them,  while  the  Brigadier  Romain  read 
their  orders  of  arrest  in  a  voice  which  seemed  to  vibrate  with 
pity: 

"  Archibald  Wilton,  arrested  by  order  of  Raoul  Rigault, 
charged  with  treason.  To  be  executed  without  court-martial 
on  receipt  of  signed  order  from  the  Prefet  of  Police." 

"  Saves  me  trouble,"  continued  Francois  ;  "  hey  !  are 
you  wounded  ?  " 

"  Hands  shot  off,"  said  Wilton,  drily. 

"  Let's  see." 

Wilton  raised  a  mutilated  arm. 

"You'll  die  anyway,"  observed  Francois;  "you  might 
as  well  be  shot." 

"  If  you  want  to  shoot  me,  you'd  better  send  me  a  surgeon 
first,"  said  Wilton,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  I  believe  I  will,"  mused  the  Governor,  biting  the  end  of 
his  pencil ;  "  if  you  die  now,  I'll  have  trouble  with  Rigault. 
What's  this  woman  here  for  ?  " 

Romain  read  from  his  order  slip  : 

"  Ynes  Falaise,  accused  of  speaking  ill  of  the  Commune, 
convicted  of   aiding  the   Versailles  wounded,   notably  the 


THE    LAST    BARRICADE  293 

traitor  Wilton.     To  be  shot  upon  receipt  of  order  signed 
by  Raoul  Rigault." 

The  Governor  leered  at  Ynes,  who  stood  beside  Wilton. 
She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  wore  a  red  cross  on  her  arm. 
"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Ynes  Falaise,  formerly  actress  in  the  Folies  St.-Antoine." 
Her  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  You  are  not  a  religieuse  now,  are  you  ?  "  asked  Francois. 

"No." 

"  Then  why  do  you  weai  the  Geneva  Cross  ?  Speak 
louder  !  " 

"  I  devote  myself  to  the  wounded  !  " 

"  Really  ?  Very  commendable,  indeed.  Dressed  in  black, 
too  ?  "  sneered  the  Governor  ;  "  oh,  how  pious  !  What  are 
you  in  mourning  for  ?  " 

"  For  my  country's  honour." 

"  Oh — I  thought  it  might  have  been  for  your  own.  Is  this 
traitor  your  lover  ?  " 

'  I  love  him,"  she  replied,  and  laid  her  hand  lightly  on 
Wilton's  shoulder. 

"Then  you  can  take  care  of  him,"  roared  the  Governor, 
"  I  won't  work  my  surgeon  to  death  on  every  foreigner  who 
comes  here  !  Take  good  care  that  he  lives  long  enough  to  be 
shot,  you  hussy,  or  I'll  have  you  put  out  of  the  way  with  a 
clubbed  rifle  !  Romain,  throw  that  loving  pair  into  the  dead 
Jesuit's  cell,  and  ring  the  signal  for  recreation.  The  prisoners 
will  have  to  take  it  in  here,  for  it's  raining." 

"  Then  these  prisoners  get  no  recreation  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  you  fool  !    Ring  the  signal  !  " 

The  Brigadier  Romain  led  Ynes  and  Wilton  into  the  cell  of 
the  dead  Archbishop,  locked  the  door,  and  moved  swiftly 
toward  the  end  of  the  corridor  where  a  rope  dangled  from  the 
great  gong  over  the  doorway.  Landes,  lying  on  the  board 
in  his  cell,  heard  the  clang  of  the  gong,  and  sprang  to  Ins  feet 
eagerly,  for  that  signal  meant  an  hour's  liberty  with  Jeanne. 

"  Jeanne  !  "  he  called  through  the  grating,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  bars  across  the  intervening  cell.  She  came  to  her 
grating,  and  at  the  same  moment  his  eyes  met  the  eyes  of 
Wilton. 

'  Hello  !  "  said  Wilton,  weakly,  "  I  heard  that  you  were 
here."  Then  Philip's  astonished  gaze  fell  upon  Ynes.  She 
looked  at  him  piteously. 


294  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"Monsieur  Wilton  is  badly  hurt,"  she  said;  "I  am  to 
nurse  him " 

"  So  we  can  both  be  shot,"  gasped  Wilton.  "  Are  you  ill, 
Philip  ?  " 

Before  Philip  could  reply,  the  door  of  his  cell  was  flung 
open,  and  the  Brigadier  Romain,  smiling  amiabty,  invited 
him  to  come  out  and  get  a  little  air. 

In  the  long,  dim  corridor,  hundreds  of  prisoners  were 
gathered,  for  the  hour  of  recreation  was  the  same  for  all  the 
tiers  in  La  Grande  Roquette,  and  now  the  prisoners  from  the 
upper  floors  were  crowding  down  the  small  circular  stairway 
into  the  immense  corridor  below.  Everywhere  groups  were 
congregating,  but  Philip  noticed  that  gestures  and  voices 
were  more  subdued  than  usual,  especially  among  the  priests. 

"  They  all  know  about  the  Archbishop,"  he  thought,  and 
looked  around  for  Jeanne.  She  was  standing  alone  by  one  of 
the  wash-basins,  and  he  made  his  way  toward  her  through 
the  throng  of  priests,  gendarmes,  Versaillist  soldiers,  im- 
prisoned policemen,  and  Gardes  de  Paris. 

' '  Who  are  the  people  in  the  cell  between  yours  and  mine  ?  ' 
she  asked,  laying  both  her  hands  in  his.     He  began  to  tell 
her,  but  stopped  as  the  Governor  came  up  and  eyed  them 
insolently. 

"  Pretty  birds  !  "he  said  ;  "  now  I  have  two  pair  of  turtle- 
doves caged  here,"  and  he  made  an  insulting  gesture  toward 
Jeanne. 

"  I  have  already  told  you  what  I  should  do  if  you  lay  your 
hand  on  that  lady,"  said  Philip,  between  his  teeth. 

The  Governor  looked  at  him  for  an  instant.  '  That  is  the 
third  time  you  have  threatened  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  sufficient,"  returned  Philip,  doggedly. 

The  Brigadier  Romain  at  that  moment  entered  the  corridor, 
stole  up  behind  the  Governor,  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  the  Governor,  his  eyes  still 
fixed  on  Philip. 

"  Rigault  is  going  to  shoot  some  more  priests  and  gen- 
darmes," he  whispered  ;  "  here  is  the  list.  Shall  I  notify 
the  gentlemen  ?  " 

The  Governor  nodded,  never  removing  his  eyes  from 
Philip's,  and  Romain  glided  away  among  the  prisoners, 
tapping  the  condemned  softly  on  the  shoulder  with  a  cheerful  : 


THE    LAST    BARRICADE  295 

"  We  need  seventy-five  this  time  ;    come  Monsieur  !     Pray 
do  not  look  so  frightened,  gentlemen." 

There  was  the  silence  of  death  among  the  prisoners,  as  a 
file  of  Federal  soldiers  entered  the  corridor  and  closed  in 
around  the  condemned. 

"  And  you,"  said  the  Governor,  stretching  his  arm  out 
toward  Jeanne  and  Philip,  "  I  will  get  permission  to  have  you 
shot  with  the  next  batch  !  "  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
followed  the  long  line  of  the  condemned  moving  in  single 
file  toward  the  prison  court. 

An  hour  later,  Philip  and  Jeanne  crept  back  to  their  cells, 
and  the  Brigadier  Romain  facetiously  bade  them  good-night 
and  good-bye,  "  for,"  he  said,  "  to-morrow  the  Governor  will 
go  to  see  Rigault  about  you." 

Light  faded  in  the  long  corridor,  the  guards  began  their 
monotonous  tramp,  tramp,  tramp.  Philip  pushed  his 
miserable  supper  aside,  and  flung  himself  face  downwards 
on  the  stones. 

Wilton's  voice  aroused  him,  and  he  stumbled  to  his  feet 
and  went  to  the  iron  grating.  "  Philip,"  he  gasped,  "send 
a  guard  for  a  priest.     Tell  him  I  am  dying." 

Landes  obeyed,  and,  pressing  his  face  to  the  "  judas," 
called  out. 

'  What  do  }'"ou  want  ?  "  replied  the  Brigadier  Romain,  who 
was  passing  with  a  lantern  and  a  bunch  of  keys. 

'  The  man  in  the  next  cell  is  dying,  and  asks  for  a  priest," 
said  Philip  ;    "  hurry  !  " 

'  Fichtre  !  "  murmured  Romain  ;  "  the  Governor  will 
catch  it  from  Rigault." 

'  Hurry  !  You  cannot  deny  him  a  priest  !  "  repeated 
Philip. 

:'  No,  it  is  permitted,"  answered  Romain  ;  "  a  man  has 
the  right  to  go  to  hell  in  his  own  way,"  and  he  unlocked  a 
cell  door  a  little  way  down  the  corridor,  and  hustled  the  priest 
who  occupied  it  into  the  cell  where  Wilton  lay,  his  head  on 
Ynes'  knees.  "  Give  him  a  good  send-off,"  said  Romain, 
la''  "hing  loudly.  "  A  priest's  recommendation  goes  a  long 
way  with  the  devil."  Philip  beckoned  Ynes,  and  she  came 
and  leaned  sobbing  on  the  grating,  while  the  murmur  of 
confession  rose  from  the  end  of  the  cell  : 

"  Mon  pere,  je  m 'accuse " 

"  Oh,  Philip, — it  is  hard,"  whispered  Ynes  ;   "  I  love  him 
U 


296  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

%o  truly, — I  would  be  a  good  woman  if  he  could  live.     I  have 
been  different  over  since  I  loved  him." 

"  You  have  been  working  in  the  hospital  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  the  field." 

The  murmur  of  confession  went  on. 

"  Are  you  married  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  No.     Archie  wishes  we  were — now." 

"  Yes— it  is  better,"  said  Philip. 

'  I — I  never  thought  it  mattered  when  one  loved,"  sobbed 
Ynes. 

"  It  does  matter,  Ynes,"  said  Philip  ;  "  don't  cry  so, — 
there  is  another  life  after  this.     Don't  you  believe  it  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  I  do  now.  I  understand  that  there  must  be 
another  life." 

With  Philip  and  Jeanne  behind  their  bars  as  witnesses 
Ynes  Falaise  and  Archie  Wilton  were  joined  in  wedlock. 
Then  the  priest  knelt  beside  Ynes  on  the  stone  floor,  reciting 
the  prayers  for  the  dying,  and  Ynes,  holding  the  wounded 
man's  head  against  her  breast,  gave  way  to  bitter  weeping. 

"  Less  noise  there  !  "  shouted  the  guard,  hammering  on  the 
door  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle.     At  the  sound,  Wilton  sat  up. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Nothing,  Archie,"  sobbed  Ynes. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  low 
murmur  of  the  priest.  Then  Wilton  lay  back,  calling  feebly 
on  Landes.     "  Good-bye,  Philip." 

"  Good-bye,  Archie,  dear  fellow,"  answered  Philip.  Wilton 
sighed,  turned  his  face  to  Ynes,  and  died  quietly  in  her  arms. 
Romain  came  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  turned  away,  leaving 
Ynes  crouched  beside  her  dead  husband. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Philip  was  stretched 
on  his  board,  staring  at  the  ceiling,  when  something  came 
crashing  into  the  street  outside,  and  burst  with  a  loud 
explosion  under  his  window.  At  once  the  prison  was  in  an 
uproar,  but  Romain  hurried  from  cell  to  cell,  cursing  savagely, 
and  threatening  to  shoot  any  prisoner  who  did  not  keep 
silence. 

"  Que  Dieu  me  damne  !  "  he  cried,  dropping  his  mask  of 

good  nature,  "  if  I  hear  another  word  I'll  let  the  mob  in  on 

you  !     Keep  quiet,  you  cursed  priests, — and  you  too,  you 

cowardly  Yankee  !  " 

An  inspiration  flashed  upon  Landes  ;  he  hammered  on  his 


THE    LAST    BARRICADE  297 

door  and  shouted  :  "  The  Versaillists  are  in  Paris  !  Death  to 
the  Commune  !  "     A  tremendous  shout  answered  him. 

"  You  lie  !  "  screamed  Romain  ;  "  if  you  open  3'our  mouth 
again  I'll  shut  it  for  ever  !  " 

"Try  it  !  "  cried  Philip. 

"Will  you  be  silent!"  howled  Romain,  drawing  his 
revolver. 

"  No  !    Down  with  the  Commune  !  " 

Romain  flew  to  the  cell  door,  shoved  his  revolver  through 
the  "  judas,"  and  fired.     Landes  dropped. 

"Good!'  yelled  Romain,  unlocking  the  door;  "I'll 
make  sure  of  you  now  !  " 

As  he  flung  the  door  open,  Philip  leaped  at  his  throat, 
twisted  his  wrist  until  it  cracked,  and  dragging  the  revolver 
from  his  limp  fist,  fired  it  in  his  face.  Romain  plunged  face 
downward  on  the  stones,  his  keys  ringing,  the  lantern  rolling 
into  the  cell.  It  was  not  extinguished,  however,  and  Philip 
picked  it  up,  seized  the  keys  from  the  dead  man's  belt,  and 
hurried  into  the  corridor. 

A  dozen  guards,  rifle  in  hand,  stood  motionless  by  the 
staircase,  but  Philip  cried  out  to  them  to  aid  him,  for  the 
Versailles  troops  were  in  Paris,  and  they  stood  no  chance 
unless  they  surrendered. 

It  may  have  been  the  overpowering  impudence  of  the 
request  that  held  them  back,  but  it  was  also  true  that  most 
of  the  armed  guards  had  been  recruited  among  the  former 
police  and  gendarmes  of  the  Empire,  and  they  had  no 
stomach  for  their  work  or  for  the  Commune.  Through 
terror  of  Francois  and  of  Romain,  and  also  to  save  their  skins 
from  Raoul  Rigault,  these  former  gendarmes  had  consented 
to  enter  the  prison  service  of  the  Commune.  Now  that 
Romain  was  dead,  and  the  Versaillists  were  in  Paris,  and 
especially  now  that  somebody  had  taken  the  initiative,  they 
did  not  hesitate  very  long. 

'  Will  you  speak  a  good  word  for  us,  Citizen  ?  "  asked  one. 

'  Yes,  indeed  !  Here,  take  these  keys  and  let  out  the 
prisoners  on  the  other  floors  !  "  cried  Landes.  "  The  Com- 
mune will  come  for  us  and  we've  got  to  intrench  ourselves  !  " 

'  Then  give  me  the  keys,"  said  the  man,  "  I'll  do  it  if  I  am 
shot  for  it  !  "  and  he  hastened  away  toward  the  upper 
corridors. 

Somehow  or  other  the  news  of  the  fate  of  the  seventy-five 


?g8  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

victims  taken  that  morning  had  reached  the  prison.  The 
inconceivable  horrors  of  the  massacre  in  the  Rue  Haxo,  where 
the  mob  had  flung  itself  on  the  helpless  prisoners  and  had 
literally  hacked  them  to  death  with  knives,  were  recounted  to 
the  smallest  details  by  the  friendly  guards,  and  in  a  moment 
the  long  corridor  resounded  with  the  excited  cries  of  the 
prisoners. 

"  Shall  we  go  tamely  to  be  butchered  ?  "  shouted  a  Turco 
of  the  Line  ;    "  shall  we  go  to  the  Rue  Haxo  ?  ' 

"  Let  us  defend  ourselves  !  "  cried  the  gendarmes,  lugging 
bedding,  boards,  and  planks  stiipped  from  the  ceilings  to 
make  a  barricade.  They  had  no  weapons  except  the  dozen 
or  so  rifles  of  the  guards,  but  a  priest  tore  the  iron  bars  and 
stanchions  from  the  benches,  and  his  example  was  followed 
bv  the  rest.  A  Line  soldier  named  Ziem  took  command  of 
the  barricade,  posting  a  dozen  gendarmes,  who  carried  rifles, 
in  the  centre,  and  asking  those  armed  with  iron  bars  to  lie 
close  behind. 

Philip,  his  arm  clasping  Jeanne's,  stood  guard  at  the  long 
stainvay  which  rose  from  the  prison  court.  Francois,  the 
Governor,  had  escaped  in  the  confusion,  and  the  prisoners 
knew  it  would  not  be  very  long  before  the  battalions  of  the 
Commune  swarmed  into  the  prison 

Francois,  in  his  night-shirt,  had  fled  at  the  first  sound  of 
the  insurrection,  and  half  an  hour  later  he  stood  shivering 
before  Raoul  Rigault  in  the  Luxembourg  Palace. 

"You're  a  traitor  !  "  yelled  Rigault,  beside  himself  with 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  chattered  Francois,  "  and  if  you'll  give  me 
some  clothes  I'll  head  a  battalion  to  quell  the  not.  It's  only 
that  they've  heard  of  the  affair  in  the  Rue  Haxo  and  have 
become  desperate." 

"  Then  you  can  get  on  your  clothes  and  go  back  and  finish 
the  lot  of  them,"  said  Rigault;  "how  many  are  there? 
Fifteen  hundred  ?  Good  !  Here  is  an  order  to  execute 
every  one  of  them  !  "  And  he  seized  a  stamped  paper  and 
wrote  the  order. 

"  And  if  they  refuse ' 

"  What's  that  ?    Don't  I  give  you  a  battalion  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  they  resist." 

"Then  collect  every  criminal  in  the  city  prisons — scour 
Belleville  and  the  Faubourg  St.-Antoine  until  you  get  a  mob 


THE    LAST    BARRICADE  299 

that  can  smell  blood  through  the  walls  of  La  Grande  Roquette. 
I  tell  you  to  tear  the  walls  down,  blow  the  prison  up,  anything, 
to  get  at  the  prisoners.  Do  you  think  I've  finished  my  list 
yet  ?  What  a  fool  I'd  look  letting  those  priests  and  gen- 
darmes slip  through  my  fingers.  There's  an  American  there, 
too,  whom  I  intended  to  strangle.  But  there  will  be  no 
time — make  sure  of  him  first  of  all.  You'd  better  do  this 
job  up  quickly  or  you'll  have  a  bayonet  in  your  back  before 
you  know  it  !  " 

Francois  took  the  order  and  followed  an  officer  into  a  room 
where  he  quickly  clothed  himself  in  the  uniform  of  a  colonel. 
Rigault  watched  him  sarcastically. 

"  What  battalion  am  I  to  take  ?  "  asked  Francois. 

"  Any  you  can  find,"  replied  Rigault,  "  get  out,  you  fool  !  ' 
and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away  toward  the  river. 

It  took  Francois  all  day  to  collect  his  rabble,  but  when 
they  were  assembled  he  could  justly  boast  that  he  com- 
manded the  vilest  mob  that  ever  howled  for  blood. 

They  entered  the  court-yard  of  the  Prison  of  the  Con- 
demned and  attempted  to  rush  the  stairway,  but  the  twelve 
rifles  and  Philip's  revolver  choked  the  stairs  with  dead  and 
dying  and  the  mob  fell  back  disconcerted.  Then  they  tried 
diplomacy  and  sent  a  white  flag  up  the  stairway  with  solemn 
promises  of  safe  conduct.  The  prisoners  consulted.  A  dozen 
priests  and  citizens  who  believed  that  the  barricade  could  not 
hold  out,  and  if  it  did,  starvation  would  drive  the  defenders 
to  make  terms,  left  the  barricade  bearing  a  white  flag,  and 
entered  the  court-yard  of  the  prison. 

"  You  promise  us  safe  conduct  ?  "  they  repeated. 

"  It  is  a  sacred  promise,"  answered  Jean  Verig,  opening 
the  gate  into  the  street. 

One  by  one  the  prisoners  stepped  through  the  narrow 
wicket,  and  each,  as  he  disappeared,  was  seized  and  silently 
butchered  by  the  mob.  So  noiselessly  was  this  done  that  had 
it  not  been  for  one  of  the  mob  who  fired  at  the  last  priest  to 
leave  the  court-yard,  the  defenders  of  the  barricade  might 
have  believed  that  the  way  to  safety  was  open.  It  did  not 
comfort  Francois  very  much  to  smash  the  skull  of  the  ruffian 
who  had  fired  contrary  to  orders,  for  now  the  prisoners  were 
alert,  and  Francois  knew  they  would  die  behind  their  barri- 
cade rather  than  trust  to  promises.  So  he  threw  off  the  mask 
and  incited  his  mob  to  the  attack.     Three  times  the  howling 


300  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

rabble  surged  into  the  prison  court-yard  and  charged  up  the 
stairs,  and  every  time  they  fled  in  a  panic,  leaving  scores  of 
dead  and  wounded  behind  them,  while  the  defenders  of  the 
barricade  cheered  and  shouted  defiance.  Hand  to  hand  the 
brave  priests  met  the  onslaught,  and  their  bars  of  iron  played 
havoc  with  the  skulls  of  the  mob.  Enthusiasm  animated 
the  disheartened  Line  soldiers  and  the  gendarmes,  and  they 
sprang  at  the  mob  with  no  weapons  but  clubs  and  bits  of 
pointed  stone.  Twice  the  Federals  succeeded  in  setting  fire 
to  the  barricade,  but  Jeanne  and  Ynes  were  ready  with  basins 
of  water  and  the  fire  was  quickly  extinguished. 

Night  fell,  and  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  Francois  him- 
self led  his  cut-throats  to  the  foot  of  the  stairway  and  directed 
the  placing  of  inflammable  material.  A  cask  of  crude 
petroleum  was  rolled  under  the  arcade  and  a  dozen  loaded 
shells  piled  around  it.  Twice  the  desperate  prisoners  suc- 
ceeded in  dampening  the  powder  train,  but  at  last  a  blazing 
torch  was  flung  into  the  petroleum  and  a  frightful  explosion 
shook  the  arcade.  Great  masses  of  stone  tottered  and 
dropped  into  the  court,  and  the  wooden  ceiling  of  the  arcade 
blazed  and  crackled,  but  the  massive  prison  was  not  injured, 
and  the  fire  in  the  arcade  burnt  itself  out  against  the  stones. 

It  was  the  last  attempt  that  the  mob  made  that  night. 
The  garrison  of  the  barricade  posted  sentinels  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  changing  them  every  two  hours.  Philip  dragged 
a  mattress  into  his  cell  for  Jeanne,  insisting  that  she  should 
sleep. 

"  I  will  try,"  she  said,  dropping  wearily  on  the  couch,  "  but 
I  cannot  sleep,  if  you  are  going  back  to  the  barricade." 

"No,  I  am  not  going  there,"  he  said,  "I  shall  be  very 
near  you." 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  sit  up  with — with " 

"  Yes,  with  my  friend  Wilton  ;  I  can't  leave  his  wife  alone 
there.     Try  to  sleep,  Jeanne." 

"I  will  try.  Good-night,  dear  Philip."  She  raised  one 
little  hand  and  he  bent  and  kissed  it. 

"  How  cold  your  fingers  are,"  he  said,  "  are  you  ill  ?  ' 

"  No,  only  tired." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously,  sighed,  and  turned  away, 
saying  :  "I  shall  be  in  the  next  cell ;  call  me  if  you  are 
feeling  ill." 

Ynes,  beside  the  body  of  her  husband,  looked  up  as  he 


THE    LAST    BARRICADE  30 1 

entered,  but  he  silently  placed  himself  at  the  foot  of  the 
couch,  and  she  bent  her  head  again  without  speaking. 

So  they  sat,  watching  beside  the  dead  until  in  the  gray  of 
the  morning  a  rifle  cracked,  and  the  barricade  swarmed  in 
an  instant. 

"  They're  coming  again,"  he  said,  "  I  must  go  back  to  the  , 
others.     Would  you  care  to  have  me  send  a  priest  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  try  to  eat  something.  See,  here  is  a  bit  of  bread 
and  a  cup  of  wine  which  I  saved  from  my  dinner.  You 
must  try  to  eat." 

"  I  cannot  eat,"  she  said. 

'  You  must.     No  one  knows  how  long  we  may  be  kept 
here,  and  there  is  no  food  left  in  the  prison." 

He  placed  the  bread  and  wine  on  the  stones  beside  her  and 
turned  away  into  the  next  cell,  where  Jeanne  still  lay. 

"  Have  you  slept  ?  "  he  asked. 

'  Yes.     The  shot  woke  me.     I  lay  very  still,  for  I  heard 
your  voice  in  the  next  cell." 

Philip  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  hand.  It  was 
burning.  "  You  have  a  little  fever,"  he  said  ;  "  you  must 
lie  quite  still.  Here  is  your  breakfast."  He  took  a  roll 
from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  bed. 

'  I  am  not  hungry,"  she  murmured,   "  but  I  am  verv 
thirsty." 

He  brought  her  a  cup  of  red  wine  and  water,  and  at  his 
urging  she  swallowed  some  bits  of  bread  soaked  in  it.  Then 
he  took  off  his  jacket,  rolled  it  up,  and  placed  it  under  her 
head.  "  Do  not  leave  the  cell  while  they  are  firing,"  he  said  ; 
'  I  will  come  back  every  hour  and  see  you."  He  walked  to 
the  door,  hesitated,  and  turned  around. 

She  looked  at  him  listlessly.  Her  eyes  were  very  bright 
and  feverish,  and  the  colour  in  her  face  burned  scarlet.  She 
lay  there,  her  hands  clasped  to  her  throat,  her  uniform  torn, 
and  soiled  with  prison  grime.  Both  her  spurs  had  been 
snapped  off  short  above  the  boot  heels,  the  riding  breeches 
were  dusty  and  faded,  and  her  clustering  hair  fell  over  he 
eyes,  now  wide  open  and  shining  like  stars. 

"Jeanne,"  he  said,  carelessly,  "if  anything  happens  so 
that  you  are  left  alone,  do  whatever  Father  Launay  tells  you. 
Trust  him  in  evervthing." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  will  do " 


302  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Crack  !  Bang  !  rang  the  rifles  from  the  barricade, 
followed  by  a  cry  of  warning  :  "  Attention  !  Look  out  for 
that  grenade  !  Down  on  your  faces  !  "  Philip  sprang  to 
the  door  of  the  cell. 

"  Go  back  !  Look  out  for  the  grenade  !  "  they  cried  to 
him  from  the  barricade,  and  at  the  same  moment  he  saw  a 
round  black  ball  come  rolling  toward  him  over  the  stone  floor. 
He  stared  stupidly  at  the  sputtering  fuse,  scarcely  under- 
standing ;  then,  as  he  stepped  back,  there  came  a  blinding 
flash  of  light,  a  stunning  report,  and  a  cry  from  the  next  cell. 
They  heard  that  cry  at  the  barricade,  and  a  soldier  came  hurry- 
ing across  the  corridor  just  as  Philip  hastened  into  the  cell. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  soldier,  "  a  woman  !  " 

Philip  stood  looking  down  at  the  limp  figure,  flung  half 
across  the  body  of  Wilton. 

"  Struck  in  the  head — see  there,"  said  the  soldier  ;  "  the 
grenade  was  full  of  bullets  and  scrap  iron." 

"  It  must  have  rolled  almost  into  her  cell, — I  was  standing 
in  the  next  cell, — I  never  thought  she  was  in  danger,"  said 
Philip.  Then  he  turned  away  and  crossed  to  the  barricade, 
where  two  of  its  defenders  lay  wounded  from  flying  fragments. 
And  as  he  entered,  the  bullets  began  whistling  into  the 
corridor  from  the  arcade  and  outer  walls,  and  the  hoarse  cry 
of  the  mob  :  '  Turn  the  cannon  on  them  !  Death  to  the 
prisoners  !  "  was  taken  up  by  a  new  contingent,  which  had 
just  arrived  with  two  cannon  and  a  mortar  from  the  Mairie 
du  Prince  Eugene. 

"  Cannon  !  "  cried  Philip,  aghast. 

"  That  settles  it,  we  are  done  for  !  "  said  a  gendarme, 
bitterly,  and  sat  down  with  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Philip  looked  fearfully  around.  Most  of  the  soldiers  stood 
with  folded  arms,  doggedly  awaiting  their  fate,  and  the  priests 
were  praying,  some  on  their  knees,  quietly,  some  standing, 
stern  and  rigid,  with  eyes  fixed,  and  drawn  lips,  scarcely 
moving.  Then  he  went  to  Jeanne,  and  found  her,  trembling 
and  shivering,  on  the  couch. 

'  My  darling,"  he  whispered,  "  I  am  afraid  that  we  must 
give  up.  Put  your  arms  around  my  neck,  so — are  you  ready 
to  die  with  me,  Jeanne  ?  " 

"Yes— with  you." 

He  drew  his  revolver,  loaded  it,  and  laid  it  at  his  feet. 
Then  he  kissed  Jeanne  on  the  mouth. 


THE    LAST    BARRICADE  303 

"  When  the  rush  comes — I  have  two  bullets  for  us, — it 
is  better." 

"  It  is  better,"  she  repeated  calmly. 

"  And  if — if  I  am  hit,"  he  said,  "  before  I  can  fire, — take 
the  revolver, — hold  it  so — close  to  your  temple  ; — it  is  better 
that  way  than  to  die  in  the  Rue  Haxo  !  " 

"  Yes,  Philip." 

A  dreadful  tumult  arose  outside, — shouts,  yells,  shot  on 
shot,  and  the  hiss  and  explosion  of  falling  shells  mingled 
with  the  crash  of  volley  firing  and  the  patter  of  a  mitrailleuse. 
From  the  prison  court  came  voices  raised  in  frantic  appeal, 
the  click  !  clash  !  click  !  of  bayonets,  and  then  horrid 
screams.  There  was  a  rush  and  trample  of  feet  on  the  stairs, 
a  flash  of  steel. 

'  Are  you  ready,  Jeanne  ?  "  said  Philip — "  kiss  me — good- 
bye v' 

'   Good-bye,"  she  murmured. 

He  cocked  his  revolver,  hesitated,  and  turned  one  furious 
glance  toward  the  stairs.  A  figure  was  ascending  from  the 
court  below,  not  hastily  either,  but  silently  and  alone,  and 
Philip  saw  with  a  start  that  he  wore  the  uniform  of  the  Line. 
Before  he  could  realize  what  had  happened,  a  wild  shout 
broke  from  the  barricade  :  "  The  Line  !  the  Line  !  "  and 
the  prisoners  rushed  out  from  behind  their  defences  and 
flung  themselves  down  the  stairs  to  the  prison  court-yard, 
where  the  drums  of  the  Marine  Infantry  were  rolling,  and  the 
bugles  sang  a  joyous  chorus. 

"  Thiers'  army  is  outside  !     Here  come  the  Marines  !  ' 
cried  the  frantic  prisoners. 

"  Here  they  come  !  "  shouted  their  Colonel,  Bias,  bounding 
up  the  stairs,  "  and  the  mob  are  falling  like  leaves  in  Pere 
Lachaise  !  " 

A  tall,  young  artillery  captain  who  stood  beside  him 
turned  and  looked  straight  at  Landes. 

"  Alain  !  "  stammered  Philip  ;  "  Jeanne,  the  army  is  here 
— do  you  understand,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  signed  Jeanne,  and  fainted  away  in  his  arms. 


304  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

CHAPTER    XXIX 

The  Return  of  the  Blackbird 

One  sunny  afternoon  in  September,  Jack  Ellice  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  stone  fountain  in  the  studio  garden  and  watched 
the  two  goldfish  aimlessly  drifting  among  the  water  weeds. 
Insects  had  been  plenty  that  summer,  and  when  Ellice 
thoughtfully  captured  a  giddy  gnat  and  dropped  it  on  the 
water,  the  goldfish  merely  stared  at  him,  and  sank  to  the 
bottom  in  the  insulting  way  they  had. 

Toodles,  now  grown  into  a  beautiful  silky  setter,  watched 
the  proceeding  with  all  the  interest  of  his  puppy  days. 

"  Cynical,  aren't  they,  Toodles,"  said  Ellice,  as  the  two  fish 
turned  their  backs  and  coldly  waved  their  tails. 

Toodles  cocked  his  ears  and  looked  at  Ellice. 

"  Not  like  you,"  said  Jack,  giving  the  dog  a  hug  ;  "  do 
you  want  to  go  in  and  swim  ?  " 

Philip  had  forbidden  Toodles  the  use  of  the  fountain  for 
bathing  purposes,  fearing  it  might  injure  the  goldfish.  Ellice 
knew  this,  and  Toodles  knew  it  also.  They  looked  at  each 
other  with  perfect  intelligence. 

"  Shall  I  go  ?  "  was  the  expression  in  Toodles'  eyes. 

"  Go,"  nodded  Ellice. 

There  was  a  flash,  a  splash,  and  Philip,  looking  up  from  the 
chess-table  under  the  almond  trees,  cried  :  "  Toodles  !  come 
out  of  that  this  minute  !  "  Toodles  emerged,  dripping  and 
cheerful. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  put  him  up  to  it,"  said  Philip,  glancing 
across  at  Ellice  ;  then  turning  to  Alain  de  Carette,  "  Alain, 
it's  your  move,  you  know." 

"  I  know,"  replied  Alain,  smiling  at  Ellice.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  chess-board,  saying  '  I  wonder,  Philip,  why 
you  don't  push  Jack  in  when  he  does  that." 

"  I  will  if  he  does  it  again, — here  !  get  out,  Toodles  ! — 
don't  shake  yourself  over  me  !  Really,  Jack,  you  ought  to 
find  some  other  amusement  for  your  declining  years." 

"  You  may  play  with  my  sword,"  suggested  Alain,  moving 
his  King  behind  a  white  Bishop  to  avoid  destruction  ;  '  it's 
bright  and  shiny,  and  rattles  too." 

"  Just  because  you  wear  a  braided  dolman  and  red  stripes 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    BLACKBIRD  305 

on  your  legs "  began  Ellice,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  a 

squall  from  Tcherka,  who  had  marched  up  behind  him,  and 
now  sat  staring  at  him  with  enormous  emerald  eyes. 

'  She  wants  her  milk,"  observed  Philip,  "  for  Heaven's 
sake,  get  it,  Jack,  or  she'll  raise  the  roof, — hold  up  a  second, 
Alain,  did  you  mean  that  last  move  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Alain,  calmly. 

'  Then  it's  check — and  mate  in  two  moves." 

"  How?  " 

'  Why,  here, — check  to  your  King, — that  forces  you  to 
interpose.  Now  I  double  my  Castles, — so,  and  you're  mated 
in  the  next  whatever  you  do." 

'  But  I  move  my  Pawn  into  your  King  row " 

"  All  right,  mate  !  " 

'  But  you  can't,  for  my  new  Queen  holds  your  King  in 
check  !  " 

'  Heavens  !  How  could  I  have  overlooked  that  !  "  mused 
Philip  ;  "  it's  the  racket  that  Toodles  and  Jack  make, — I 
can't  think  !  Just  listen  to  that  cat  !  Stop  teasing  her, 
Jack,  and  give  her  the  milk,  or  I'll  duck  you  !  " 

'  Let's  wait  until  Monsieur  Ellice  and  his  circus  have 
finished  the  matinee,"  suggested  Alain,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  and  lighting  a  cigar. 

"All  right,"  said  Ellice,  cheerfully,  "here  comes  the 
clown  now." 

Jacques  Jean  Marie  Louis  Joseph  Bottier,  unconscious  of 
this  announcement,  entered  the  garden  with  a  tray  on  which 
were  balanced  three  slender  glasses. 

'  Bet  he  breaks  one  !  "  said  Ellice  in  English. 

'  Take  you,"  replied  Alain,  in  the  same  language — "  steady 
there,  mon  enfant,  steady — oh,  the  devil  !  "  as  a  glass  fell  on 
the  gravel  and  shivered  to  splinters. 

'  Get  a  dust-pan  and  a  broom,"  said  Philip,  without  any 
annoyance,  "  and  if  I  have  another  whole  glass  in  the  house, 
bring  it  in  a  basket." 

Jacques  Jean  Marie  Louis  Joseph  Bottier  grinned.  He 
was  used  to  this  duty,  and  considered  the  whole  performance 
an  exquisite  piece  of  pleasantry. 

'  Bien,  Monsieur  Landes,"  he  said,  and  retired  to  be 
withered  by  Joseph's  sarcasm. 

'  Imbecile  !  "  snorted  Joseph,  "  go  and  get  that  dust- 
pan !    Do  you  think  Monsieur  Landes  owns  a  glass  factory  ? 


306  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Give  me  the  glass  and  the  bitters  and  the  coquetelle, — etpuis, 
file  !  Espece  de  cornichon  !  '  Thus  did  Joseph  exercise 
sovereignty  over  Bottier,  and  Bottier  respected  and  feared 
him. 

When  the  cocktails  were  brought,  and  a  silver  pitcher  of 
mint  juleps  added  as  reserve,  Ellice  came  and  sat  down  to 
watch  the  game  of  chess,  saying  that  the  opera  was  over  and 
he  was  ready  to  watch  the  circus.  Alain  clicked  his  spurred 
heels  together  and  stared  at  the  chess-board.  Philip  lighted 
a  cigarette. 

"  How  long  is  Alain's  leave  ?  "  asked  Ellice. 

"Thirty  da}'s  with  privilege  of — here  !  don't  joggle  the 
table,  Jack  !  " 

'  I'm  not.     How  the  deuce  did  the  General  give  him  thirty 
days  ?    He  hasn't  done  anything." 

'  No,  nothing — except  to  get  the  Legion  of  Honour." 

'  Pshaw  !  "  said  Alain  ;  "  you  fellows  deserve  it  more  than 
I  do " 

"  /  do,"  said  Ellice,  amiably  ;  "  by  the  way,  is  it  true  that 
Rigault  is  dead  ?  " 

'  Why,  of  course.     Alain  saw  them  finishing  him,  didn't 
you,  Alain  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  saw  it,"  said  Alain,  pushing  his  white  Bishop 
forward  two  squares. 

"Was  he  shot?  " 

Alain  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  struck  a  match  to 
relight  his  cigar. 

"  Yes.  I  was  coming  along  by  the  Luxembourg,  just 
opposite  the  Rue  Gay  Lussac.  A  man  was  running  with  a 
mob  in  full  chase,  and  I  pitied  the  fellow  and — er — kept  them 
off  until  they  told  me  who  he  was." 

"  And  after  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  tried  to  persuade  them  to  let  the  court-martial  do 
the  rest — but  you  know  what  a  mob  is  !  They  tore  him  to 
bits  and  then  shot  what  was  left." 

"  Did — did  he  die  game  ?  "  enquired  Ellice. 
'  Probably  not,"  said  Philip,  picking  up  his  black  Knight. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Alain,  "  he  died  like  a  mad  wolf, 
foaming  and  snapping  and — ugh  !  I  can  hear  his  yell  even 
yet  !  " 

"  What  did  he  yell  ?  "  persisted  Ellice,  devoured  by 
curiosity. 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    BLACKBIRD  307 

"  Vive  la  Commune  !  You've  heard  it  before,  I  imagine," 
said  Alain,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Give  me  that  pitcher  of 
juleps,  if  you  please,  my  son." 

'  Here  you  are.     Is  it  true  that  Weser  escaped  after  all  ?  ' 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  of  it,"  interposed  Philip. 

'  He  has  been  located  in  Hester  Street,  New  York.     They 

can't  extradite  him  either.     Alain,  I  don't  see  how  I'm  going 

to  get  out  of  this  hole  here.     I  stand  to  lose  either  my  Knight 

or  those  two  Pawns." 

"  So  it  appears,"  smiled  Alain,  quaffing  lus  julep  and  look- 
ing at  the  board  through  the  glass.     "  What  time  is  it,  Jack? ' 

Eliice  opened  his  watch.  "  By  Jove,  it's  nearly  three 
o'clock  I  "  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  going  into  the  studio  to  see 
if  things  are  in  order." 

'  My  wife  may  be  late,"  said  Alain,  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  smile,  "  she  is  going  to  call  first  on  some  friends 
of  ours  who  have  just  arrived  from  Chartres." 

"  Chartres  ?  "  asked  Philip,  looking  up  from  the  board. 
'  Yes.     By  the   way,    how  long  since  you   heard   from 
Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  (  " 

"A  month." 
'  Then  you  have  not  heard  since  she  left  for  Switzerland  ?  " 

"  No — yes,  indirectly  from  her  guardian " 

"My  cousin,  de  St.  Gildas  ?  " 

'  Yes.  He  has  not  permitted  her  to  write.  He  has  his 
reasons,  they're  good  too.  I  suppose  he  will  never  approve 
of  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Alain. 
'  Oh,  the  whole  affair  has  taken  a  turn  for  the  worse.  Now 
that  Mademoiselle  de  Brassac  has  recovered  from  the  shock 
of — of  those  days  and  has  been  for  months  among  her  own 
people,  she  will  begin  to  look  at  things  in  a  proper  light. 
I  suppose  also  she  will  try  to  forget." 

"  Forget  what?  " 

Philip  ostentatiously  moved  an  important  Pawn  and 
looked  at  Alain. 

"  Forget  what  ?  "  repeated  de  Carette. 
'  Oh,  everything — all  the  horrors  that  she — and  I  went 
through." 

Alain  advanced  his  white  Knight  and  captured  the  un- 
fortunate Pawn.  "  You're  playing  carelessly,  Philip.  Why 
should  she  wish  to  forget — you  ?  " 


308  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

Philip  stared  at  the  board. 

"  By  the  way,"  continued  Alain,  "  I  suppose  that  the 
Abbe  Lagarde  has  deposited  the  de  Brassac  diamonds  in  the 
Bank  of  France." 

"  Yes,  the  Abbe  wrote  me.  How  fortunate  that  the  poor 
Archbishop  should  have  sent  him  on  that  mission  to 
Versailles.  They  are  criticising  him  now  for  not  returning, 
and  the  Communistic  journals  charged  him  with  breaking  his 
parole,  but  the  Archbishop  wished  him  to  remain  and  plead 
with  Thiers  and  he  was  quite  right  to  stay.  Don't  you  think 
so  ? 

"  Of  course.  He  could  do  more  good  there  than  if  he  had 
returned  to  Mazas  before  his  mission  was  ended.  I  am  glad 
he  thought  to  sew  the  diamonds  into  his  soutane.  Made- 
moiselle de  Brassac  is  an  heiress  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  trying  to  smile. 

"  And  it's  your  move,"  began  Alain,  when  a  ring  at  the 
lodge  gate  interrupted  him.  He  rose  quietly  and  smiled  at 
Philip. 

"  It's  your  move,"  he  repeated — "  on  this  game  before  us 
and  in  the  game  of  life.  Move  boldly  and  fear  nothing,  mon 
ami,  Philip.     I  think  that  is  my  wife, — here  she  is  now." 

Philip  hastened  down  the  path  and  bent  low  over  the 
slender  gloved  hand  which  Marguerite,  Countess  de  Carette, 
graciously  extended. 

"Alain,"  she  said,  laughing,  "isn't  it  delightful,  this 
studio  garden  ?  Did  I  not  tell  you  ?  Thank  you,  I  prefer  to 
sit  on  this  dear  little  fountain, — where,  Monsieur  de  Carette, 
I  have  often  sat  before " 

"  With  Jack  Ellice,"  said  Alain  ;  "lam  very  jealous  and 
— hello  !    where  has  Philip  gone  ?  " 

"  You  goose  !  "  whispered  Marguerite,  "  why  don't  you 
let  them  alone  ?     Turn  your  back,  as  I  do." 

Jeanne  de  Brassac  stood  under  the  almond  trees  that  she 
knew  so  well,  and  now  Philip  was  beside  her  and  was  bending 
over  her. 

"  I  did  not  know,"  he  stammered  ;  "  Madame  de  Carette 
did  not  tell  me.     I  thought  you  were  in  Zurich " 

"  How  should  you  know  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  happy  light 
in  her  eyes  ;  "  I  did  not  know  it  myself  until  Madame  de  St. 
Gildas  told  me  that  we  were  going  to  Paris."  Then  looking 
around  :   "  Oh,  the  dear  old  garden  ! — and  the  fountain  and 


THE    RETURN    Of    THE    BLACKBIRD  309 

the  almond  trees  !  I  met  Joseph  in  the  court  and  I  shook 
both  his  hands  very  hard,  and  I  also  smiled  at  Jacques  Jean 
Marie  Louis  Joseph  Bottier, — and  I  wish  to  hug  Tcherka  and 
Toodles  at  once." 

She  walked  swiftly  over  to  the  chess-taDle  and  sat  down 
under  the  almond  trees. 

"  Sit  there,  opposite,"  she  said, — "  and  tell  me  everything. 
Oh,  Monsieur  Ellice  !  " 

Jack  came  up  radiant,  and  seemed  disposed  to  stay,  but 
Marguerite  got  him  away,  and  between  her  and  Alain  he 
found  no  time  to  intrude  on  Philip  and  Jeanne. 

"  Alain  has  seen  the  studio  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  charming 
smile. 

"  Oh,  he's  seen  it,"  said  Ellice,  but  Alain  took  his  cue,  and 
insisted  on  seeing  it  again. 

'  We  are  going  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  studio,"  said 
Marguerite  to  Jeanne. 

The  sunlight  fell  across  the  gravel,  gilding  the  pebbles  and 
searching  the  depths  of  the  brown  water  in  the  fountain. 
Tcherka  was  polishing  her  claws  on  the  lilac  trees,  and 
Toodles,  who  had  unearthed  an  ancient  bone,  dry  and  tooth- 
less as  an  Egyptian  mummy,  sprawled  at  full  length  on  the 
gravel,  gnawing  and  cracking  it  as  if  he  were  dying  of 
starvation. 

"  Make  him  stop,  Philip,"  said  Jeanne,  unconsciously 
falling  into  the  familiar  tone  of  the  past. 

"Toodles  !  "  cried  Philip. 

The  dog  thumped  his  silky  tail  on  the  gravel. 
'  He  won't — oh,  let  him  have  his  bone,"  laughed  Jeanne, 
capriciously.     "  Is  the  blackbird  here  yet,  Philip  ?  " 

'  Yes.  He's  out  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  a  good  deal, 
but  he  always  comes  back.  There  is  Monsieur  Prud'homme 
too." 

"  That  toad  !  But — I  am  even  glad  to  see  him."  Monsieur 
Prud'homme  hopped  stolidly  into  the  hole  under  the  wall, 
and  Toodles  raced  after  him, — too  late. 

"  He's  gone,  Toodles,"  said  Philip,  kicking  the  bone  into  a 
clump  of  grass.  Then  he  went  back  to  Jeanne.  '  I  have 
not  even  asked  you  how  you  are,"  he  said,  with  a  little  return 
of  his  constraint. 

'  Why,  I  am  well,  of  course.  And  you,  Philip  ?  Are  you 
happy  ?  " 


310  THE    RED    REPUBLIC 

"  Well,  thank  you, — and  happy."  She  noticed  the  stiff- 
ness of  his  manner. 

'  Here  is  a  chess-board,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  know  you 
played." 

"  I  was  pi  lying  with  Captain  de  Carelte,"  he  said,  looking 
vacantly  at  the  pieces. 

"  But  which  were  yours  ?  Come,  I  will  finish  the  game  with 
you  if  you  wish.     Do  you  care  to  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  smiled,  "  these  are  mine,  the  black.  It  is  your 
move." 

"  Very  well,  check  !   to  you,  Monsieur." 
'  You  play  too  rapidly  ;    check  !    in  turn  to  you,  Made- 
moiselle !  " 

Jeanne  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  examining  the  board  with 
grave  attention.  Once  she  bent  to  pick  up  a  piece  which  had 
rolled  to  the  edge  ot  the  board,  and  her  white  hand,  resting  so 
easily  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  brought  back  to  Philip  the 
picture  of  the  past, — that  Christmas,  Victor,  the  blue-eyed 
child,  standing  so  quietly  in  the  firelight,  her  slender  hand  on 
her  mother's  arm. 

"  Check  !  to  your  Queen,  Philip,"  said  Jeanne.  Then 
raising  her  eyes  :   "  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  strangely  ?  " 

"  Checkmate  !    Jeanne." 

"  Mated  already  !     Oh,  Philip  !  " 

"  Mated,"  he  repeated.     "  Listen,  Jeanne,  I  had  no  mercy." 

She  raised  her  eyes  again,  and  looked  at  him  long  and 
silently. 

"  What  does  Monsieur  de  St.  Gildas  say?  "  asked  Philip, 
meeting  her  gaze  steadily. 

She  did  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  him.  "  He  says 
what  I  say,"  she  replied.  Then  the  soft  colour  spread  over 
her  neck  and  temple.     Her  lips  trembled  imperceptibly. 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  Jeanne  ?  " 

.She  held  both  her  arms  out  toward  him. 

"  Philip,  can  you  ask  ?  " 

*  #  "  *  *  *  *  * 

There  was  a  flash  of  wings  in  the  branches  of  the  almond 
tree,  a  flutter  and  rustle  among  the  leaves,  then  the  blackbird 
uttered  a  low,  sweet  note. 

THE    END. 
Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  MACRAVS  Ltd.,  Chatham. 


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